


Love-in-idleness

by creatoriginsane



Series: Tori | Hana | Ken [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Non-Chronological, Post-Relationship, Pre-Relationship, Samurai, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9912221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creatoriginsane/pseuds/creatoriginsane
Summary: "It made sense that she is attracted to strong men. It also made sense that she is repulsed by his personality."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Writing practice when I should be writing my thesis.

Shikaku no Shikai is attracted to strong men.

To stronger men, if she were to be honest.

For most of her life, she had been regarded as the strongest member of their trio, Tori-Hana-Ken. Cheekily dubbed as the "steel-biter" by the one whom she regards as 'Torihime'--bird princess, her moniker goes not without reason because she could just very well have been chewing on steel wool since she was a child. Her tough, no-nonsense personality is made even sharper with her unparalleled skill in kenjutsu and her unmatched talent in bukijutsu. So, of course it would make sense as to why she is attracted to strong men. Men and women should be on par with each other, after all. She is attracted to strong men because she is a strong woman. Yes. It makes enough sense given her upbringing as an onna-bugeisha, and it gives some reason as to why she's currently contemplating her affairs with certain men.

Certain naked men lying beside her. He hoards the sheets to himself, covers his entire body up until the bridge of his nose. She's sitting upright, leaning against the headboard, and her elbows resting on bent knees.  She watches the clock  on the wall in front of her; it's late and they both have an early day tomorrow. She thinks to sleep, but how? Shall she simply lie down beside him? Offer him a warmth that she knows her cold body cannot give?

"Are you satisfied?"

His question disrupts the silence between them, and she looks at him then, sees him looking at her.

She frowns. Sighs. Doesn't know what to say.

He shifts on his side to face her, reaches a hand out from under the covers to--

"Don't." She punctuates with a force befitting the battlefield.

He breathes a quiet (relieved?) breath and turns away from her. This makes sense, she thinks, because there is no room for small, tender moments of intimacy. She exhales a quick breath and watches the clock again.

At dawn, they wake at the same time.

When he sees her slumbering form, he has half a heart to blanket her in the sheets that still radiate his warmth but she stops him before he could touch her:

"Don't."

\--in the same sharp tone as last night. She sits up then, on the edge of the bed and stretches her arms, her neck, flexes her legs and stands up without so much as a greeting. The taut muscles of her back and the tattoo spiraling around her leg intimidate him in the harsh light. She cranes her head to look at him over her shoulder.

"You have to be somewhere."

She glances ever-so-minutely at the wall clock and he does the same. She frowns. He's going to be late, but he doesn't mind. He knows _they_ wouldn't mind either. He looks to her then, looks for any signs, but there is none as she gathers the discarded clothing hanging from the armchair.

"They won't mind." He suggests as he returns to lie back down on the bed, closes his eyes and relaxes.

"What a bad example you set to the youth." He hears her distasteful words and if that wasn't his cue to get changed and leave…

"They're waiting." Her voice is nearer this time, but he doesn't move.

"I'm not leaving with you." She adds.

He answers, "I hope you have a nice day."

It was at that moment that she pulls the sheets from his body and dumps his clothes on him.

"I wish you the same, Hokage-sama." She states plainly.

It is when he hears this that he jolts awake only to see her disapproving expression.

"Please leave."

And when he does, it is as she preferred it, without a goodbye.


	2. Chapter 2

Hatake Kakashi is attracted to… Wide hips, a sizeable bust, soft curves, and shy eyes are desirable qualities of any woman--combine all the four with an exciting personality and a way around the kitchen, you'd have the perfect partner. Add a little something about how to make a man's eyes water and an admirable level of stamina and--

He's not sure what he's attracted to, if he were to be honest, which is why he's lying beside a woman intent on boring into the wall with just her eyes. He doesn't take it against her, he believes she could actually do it, seeing as she's all sharp edges and taut muscle, hard bone and harder eyes. He yawns. It's still early in the night. He looks to her imposing form, half-curious at how she manages to keep steady as if nothing has transpired between them minutes before.

"Will you be honest with me?"

Sweet, post-coital silence is broken. He hears her sigh. It's not one of those sighs he'd imagine in a tender post-sex scene in erotica, but it's one of those sighs a teacher would give to an overly-eager student that has kept missing the mark, a sigh that goes hand-in-hand with disappointment, which is why he turns to her and reaches out to touch her; surely her sigh wasn't her true answer.

"Why?"

If her body was a sword, then her curt reply would be a quick cut that rips across his body. He hesitates before returning to lie on his back. He thinks to deny ever hearing her words and persist in his intention to coax a more favorable reply our of her--it's his ego, after all. He thinks to touch her, pull her close, kiss her neck and shiver in the cold welcome of her body.

"Go to sleep already."

Her ungentle answer and narrowed gaze prevents him, makes him think that she would sooner crush his trachea than beg for him to touch her.

This is, after all, just an exercise. No attachments. No intimacies.

He falls asleep without telling her goodnight, and in the morning he wakes to find her lying beside him.

She keeps her eyes closed and her body tense because she knows he's awake. He's gotten all the sheets to himself, after all, and the ruffling doesn't mask the feeling of his body leaning towards her.

"You lied."

She says before the still-warm sheets cover her form. When she shifts to the edge of the bed to stretch, he doesn't move. Instead, he watches. She wonders how his face looks like as he does, frowns; she doesn't like people watching her begin her morning routine. If she could, she would have just told him to leave immediately the night before. But she doesn't, which is why she turns to glance at him and say:

"You're supposed to be gone by morning."

It's almost seven in the morning. His work begins at seven-thirty. Hers begin at a quarter-to-eight. He knows this. She knows he's going to be late--he always is, but he doesn't mind. His concept of time is relative. He appears when he is needed, precisely when he is needed, and there's not much else to say. He values time, his time, and his time alone. He's always been a lone wolf. But that is no excuse to her. She hates to keep people waiting, hates to have wasted time, time that could have been spent on more important things, like getting dressed.

"Cruel." She hears him speak as she gathers his clothes from the armchair.

She replies, "How childish of you to think so."

When she turns to him, she sees him burying himself under her sheets.

She steps closer to the bed. "Please leave."

He doesn't move one bit.

She frowns deeper, a sour taste forming in her mouth, "You made them wait."

"I come when I am needed." She hears from under the sheets.

He is being stubborn. Lazy. Uncooperative. Such unattractive traits.

So she pulls the covers swiftly from his body before dumping his clothes on him.

She breathes in, clears her throat and speaks: "If you wish for me to be honest, then I will say what an unbecoming Hokage you turned out to be."

And when he jolts awake and sits upright with a look of surprise does she feel the relief.

She blinks once. "Leave now."

He hurries out her door, leaves without so much as a word as she immediately shuts the door after him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at smut, if you can call it that.

They're attracted to other people.

Her hair is shorter than he'd like, and his hair is paler than she's prefer. Her toned body under layers of garments breaks the illusion of soft skin and supple curves, the same way his casual demeanor masks his scarred body and hardened muscle. He'd like a soft woman--much like any other man--and she'd like a whole man, just like any other woman. He doesn't want a woman impassive to moments of tenderness and intimacy as much as she doesn't want a man to seek gentleness in her hands.

"I am not her." She tells him as she pulls the layers of robes away from her body, baring herself to him with no hint of shyness or coyness. Her steely gaze meets his and they breathe evenly as if they've been doing this for a long time.

He's just thankful the way his breath catches in his throat isn't evident.

She just wants to get this over with, get this done and get him out of her hair, so he tugs at the line of his mask and drags it down his face with a slowness that mocks seduction. He holds her gaze the entire time and doesn't fail to notice her tongue slipping out her mouth to lick at her lips in what he thinks is anticipation when her lips are just dry, that's all.

"Neither am I, him." He tells her with all the honesty he could muster at this moment, and knows that she accepts it completely because she's stepping closer to him as he strips himself bare.

The single lamp in the room provides just the smallest amount of light so that their bodies are half in shrouded in darkness, half bared in the warm light. He's used to it, the perpetual state of being half-concealed being his only state in life. He's never bared himself completely before, never showed his entire self, never made known his feelings at any given time. He thinks that he's still hiding himself now, hiding himself in the shadows that surround him, sinking deeper into the darkness he has always carried with him.

But she is no light-bearer bent on fishing him out of the abyss. She is no goddess radiating warm light in her smile. If anything else, she is just as half-shrouded in the dark as he is, relishing in the anonymity the darkness provides. She carries a certain darkness in her that mirrors his own, a certain darkness that weighs as much as his own. He is no savior, and neither is she, but that is not what they seek from each other.

And so they find themselves together in the space of her bed--always hers, never his. It is not out of her insistence, but it is purely out of convenience because she lives in the far side of town, whilst he lives in the heart of Konohagakure, seeing as he's soon to become the Rokudaime Hokage. Sometimes he thinks to invite her into his bed, wonder if she'd invite herself into his the same way he's done to her, but her hard stare is enough to render that thought impossible.

"She is brave." She whispers against the line of his jaw, and he could feel her teeth grazing his delicate skin. She has one hand pressing against the base of his neck, the other curving around the jut of his hip.

She pulls him against her, presses her body against his and he could feel no softness in it. His hands press against her back, feeling ripples of hard muscle under firm skin, and he wonders if there is any part of her body that isn't steel.

"He is kind." He says in reply against her cheek, and she snarls in response before latching her mouth on the column of his neck, splaying her hands against his skin, stroking and rubbing with a ferocity that only she could have.

He answers in kind, pressing and pulling, curling a hand around her thigh to press a leg in-between hers, tracing a finger along the underside of her breast. Slow. Gentle. She grunts before pressing her groin against his leg, pulling him harder against her. Needy. Impatient. He whines when she pushes herself away, gasps when she grazes her nails on the skin of his abdomen, trailing lower until she reaches the dipping curve of his pelvic bone. Suggestive. Precise. She groans when he palms her breast, hisses when he licks at her collarbone. Subtle. Deliberate.

She rakes her nails across his chest, not minding the myriad of scars across his body, as he palms the expanse of her back, smooth skin as hard as stone. She pulls herself away again, stalks towards the bed and sits with one leg tucked under her and one leg swinging on the side of the bed. She leans back on her arms and stares coldly at him. There is not an inkling of seduction in her eyes when he meets her gaze.

Her eyes narrow at him and she speaks with a tone worthy of fear, "Faster."

He is a man who knows fear, but not a man that lives by it. Which is why he kneels in front of her and parts her legs, hooking one over his shoulder and the other bent on the edge of the bed. He keeps her steady gaze the entire time, and it is almost like a challenge. Keep up with her or lose the momentum, but he's a fast learner, after all, Sharingan or not. He doesn't pull her closer to the edge of the bed, doesn't hurry to fulfill her demands, but takes his time; slants his lips across her knees, exhales through his mouth, grazes the skin of her thigh as he leans over, stopping just before his chin meets the junction between her legs.

He doesn't tear his eyes away from her own when he comments lightly, "I like to take my time."

He chuckles lowly to himself before her hands come around his shoulders to pull him up and over her. She pushes him into her bed, presses her body to his as he latches her mouth onto his throat, uses her hands to keep his head in place and steady herself as she parts his legs with hers. He responds instantly, pressing his leg against her groin and rubbing his hands against her back.

He thinks that he'll like it--being dominated, but he's only half-hard and she's not even close to being as aroused as he'd like her to be. So he uses his strength then, pushes against her with the intention of switching their positions, but she pushes back, uses his strength against him and moves her mouth from his neck to his face, grazing her teeth against his cheek before pressing on the skin just below his mouth. She hums mockingly as he struggles to flip her over, laughs when he groans at the feeling of his cock against the side of her leg.

She thinks she'll like it--seeing him grow weak, but he's hard now and she wants to make him whimper. So she parts her lips and dips her tongue into his mouth, already expecting that he push up and close the contact between them, latches a hand on the back of her head to press her deeper into his mouth as his tongue presses on the underside of her own and hers flick against his teeth. A moan erupts from her throat and it only takes a split-second of weakness for him to take advantage and place her beneath him, peppering kisses from her throat to her belly as he strokes a deft finger around her cunt.

It's a wonder how they could still hold each other's gazes even if she's biting her lower lip out of frustration and he's licking his in anticipation.

She grabs the wrist of his hand and eyes him dangerously, hisses with a menacing tone, "Fuck me already."

He could imagine it as a keening plea, a helpless moan from a soft-bodied woman, but it was no plea, and she is no soft-bodied woman. So he holds her gaze, dips the finger into her folds and strokes at a vertical motion. Her breathing slows down a little, and now she breathes through her mouth, a thin veil of sweat begins forming at her forehead. She hold his gaze the entire time, thinks twice about looking away. It doesn't escape him that she gasps inwardly as his finger sinks a little deeper and the tip of his thumb brushes against her clit. She cants her hips closer, narrows her eyes when he only continues the ministrations at such a languid pace.

He kisses the skin of her thigh before replying with a confident smirk, "So impatient."

A loud, frustrated sound ripping from her throat is that last thing he hears before he is pushed down on the bed and becomes a mere witness. She has his wrists pinned to his sides with the weight of her feet as she sits with legs parted across his torso. It's a difficult position as she struggles to keep her weight focused on her feet, trying to keep her feet pressed against his wrists, trying to keep her balance as she moves one hand down her chest.

She doesn't tear away from his curious, wide-eyed gaze as she rubs her clit between two fingers, doesn't cry out when she plunges two fingers knuckle-deep in her cunt. She's testing him, testing his patience when she no longer has none, testing his endurance when she's just beginning, testing his stamina when she's just waiting for him. She keeps her pace fast, keeps her breathing loud, keeps his gaze the entire time just to see how much pent-up frustration is forming behind his eyes. She knows her knees are giving in, knows his wrists are already free from her weight, knows that any moment he could press her into the deep and plunge his already thirsty cock into her.

She had stated that she just wants to fuck, have sex; pure, carnal sex that ends just as fast as it began, but he is different. He had agreed to her terms and conditions--only during the night, only in her bed, only when she says, only in her consent can he touch her with an intimacy that cannot escape the four walls of her bedroom. She had chosen him, out of all the men in the village that she knew, because he's impersonal, he's strong, he's quiet, he's alone. It was an offer he could very much refuse, and yet he decided to agree to it.

It's a wonder now how he's not delivering to her expectations. She denies herself the orgasm on purpose and instead cries out with tears forming in her eyes--she hasn't had this difficult a partner before.

She's sitting beside him now, all pent-up frustration and general disappointment clear in her face as she steadies her breathing. She's looking at him with the kind of eyes that could burn down villages if she had the bloodline.

"Are you going to fuck me or not?"

The only answer he gives to her is a languid kiss on the mouth, his tongue darting out to press against the underside of hers again, as he parts her legs his one hand and strokes the outer lips of her cunt.

"I'm going to."

He palms her breast as her licks her throat, his thumb nudging against her clit.

"Slowly."

He crawls on top of her, levels the tip of his cock to her parted cunt. He plunges the tip and watches her suck at her bottom lip.

"Very slowly."

He presses deeper at a pace that made her hiss and curse, but never beg or plead. She snakes her arms around his shoulders, presses her thighs into his waist, bucks her hips upward in an incessant grind against his. He's not even completely in when he retracts, earning a pressing of nails against the flesh of his neck and a whine, before plunging deeper in one movement. He repeats, retreating before plunging deeper and deeper into her, feeling her cunt tighten around his cock, hearing her strangled breaths mixing with his, seeing her eyes close, finally close, as she writhes against him.

When she comes, she doesn’t make a sound of climax. Instead, she groans as she spills around him, clenching impossibly tight around his cock and moaning against his mouth as he continues ramming into her, trying to bring her to climax a second time. When she is almost there, she screams and tightens her hands around his neck before he withdraws quickly only to keep at it with his fingers, plunging two digits easily into her as she mewls.

They come at the same time; him over her sheets and she over his hands. It's going to be a mess to clean in the morning, but it is done; their first night together is unexpected, but finished all the same. He glances at the mess in his hands and on her sheets and wonders for a moment how many extra bedsheets she has. He lies down and notices that she's sitting on the side of the bed, hands gripping the edge of the mattress.

"Shikai-san." He reaches out.

"Sorry." She says in reply before his clean (cleaner) hand meets her back. She pulls a small towel from her bedside table and offers it to him. "You can clean yourself up. I have hot water."

Hot water could be deemed a luxury after sex, but he knows that could wait.

He takes the towel and uses it to clean his hand and wipe at the soiled sheets; he's still a gentleman, after all. He looks and she's still sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Shikai." He calls out.

"Samurai-san." She corrects. "It's more impersonal this way."

He frowns, if only a little, at her sudden shift in demeanor. One moment she's keening under him the next she's all hard stares and cold words.

"Alright." He shrugs. "What are you going to call me?"

"Hokage-sama."

He blinks. As if that term didn't haunt him enough.

"Very well." He sighs. "Can we talk?"

She shifts to lie on the bed with her back turned towards him. She responds blankly, "What is there to talk about?"

He leans against the headboard and looks at her lying form, casually suggests, "Tell me about your day."

She sighs, cants her head to look at him with bothered eyes, "You have an early day tomorrow, Hokage-sama."

He decides to sleep then, but not without having all the sheets to himself. The night is cold, and her body is even colder. He'd prefer to sleep next to a different person the same way she prefers to be held by someone else.

They're attracted to different people, that's all. That doesn't mean they can't have sex.


	4. Chapter 4

When daylight arrives, they return to themselves, whole and apart. She becomes the kenjutsu master, the foreign ally, the temporary teacher, and he becomes the soon-to-be Hokage, the copy-nin, the shinobi mentor. Their lives in daylight are separate, but there are some instances where their two lives intersect beyond the walls of her bedroom.

Konohagakure is smaller than Hagakure, more cramped and more populated, winding streets filled with ambient noise and idyll laughter. It is a village in the heart of the Fire Country surrounded by both thick forests and sprawling fields. The atmosphere is welcoming, that even after the war the village has remained hospitable to foreign allies. Now, it is nearly half a year after she has agreed to assist in educating young genin in swordsmanship, despite her initial hesitation, would she still be considered a foreign ally now?

Her teammates are no different, one has taken up shop as an apothecary, and the other has taken students in the so-called art of conjuring beasts out of thin air. It has been some weeks since they have visited each of their hometowns, they seem to find no reason to, but she feels a certain longing for the life she would have in Hagakure if she left Konohagakure for good. She would be part of the Hagane Juttetsu, Hagakure's elite guard, she would see to it that her brother inherit the Amakuni name as a one of Hagakure's Saijo Õwazamono, great swordsmiths, and she inherit her mother's Yatagare-ryu and ensure the survival of the samurai art.

She has more than enough reason to leave, which is why she is called by the future Rokudaime Hokage in the middle of the day.

"Shikai-san." He greets from behind a stack of papers.

She nods. "Hatake-san."

How formal.

The office is still filled with the paraphernalia of the former Godaime Hokage, several half-empty vials are accompanied with mostly empty sake bottles, the pungent scent of various poultices linger in the air, a stack of unread documents gather dust in one corner, and volumes of untouched records sitting on a high shelf. This office doesn't suit him, she thinks as she looks past him and to the view of the city, he would be better suited to an office clean of any remnant of its past occupant. He is still in transition, after all, and it would be better sooner than later if he would take the position.

"I am at your service."

He looks up at her and wastes no time. "Konoha seeks for you to join its ranks."

And she does the same. "I refuse."

The absence of hesitation in her merits an audible sigh from him; this was going to be harder than he thought.

He tries to reason, "The fifth--"

"Though I admire her judgement, I had given her my answer and that is final."

Tsunade is a formidable ally, even more so an enemy, and it is an honor for her to be praised in battle, an even greater honor to be welcomed to join the ranks of the shinobi after the war. If she were as archaic as her grandfather, she would think is a scandal for a samurai of her class be invited to join the ranks of measly shinobi. If she were as radical as her father, she would have accepted the offer without question.

Her grandfather committed seppuku. Her father was assassinated. He understands her hesitation, if only somewhat, his father committed suicide, after all.

He doesn't want to pull rank, but it is inevitable. He feels himself recoil internally as he says, "I am asking you as the Rokudaime Hokage."

And she has the perfect retort, stating, "You have not yet taken the position."

"My presence in this office should be enough, wouldn't it?"

He holds her steady gaze and realizes how difficult it is to intimidate her. She is, after all, a samurai trained in counteracting any shinobi tactic whether in the battlefield or in the interrogation room. But this is no battlefield, nor is he interrogating her; this is just conversation. A conversation between two people, the future leader of the village and the foreign samurai.

She lowers her eyes, bows her head stiffly, and says, "I apologize for my rudeness, but I stand firm in my decision."

He is faintly surprised by her gesture, so he asks, "Why do you remain in Konoha, then?"

"I was invited to teach kenjutsu." She explains, looking past him. "Once my students have graduated, my duty as instructor would have been fulfilled."

He knows there's tinge of jealousy, a certain feeling of caution in her. She still holds her pride as a samurai, after all. He knows how her teaching of the samurai art to their shinobi goes against her core beliefs, but they are allies now, friends perhaps. Hagakure has sent their samurai to aid in the Fourth Shinobi World War. Konohagakure has sent their shinobi to aid in the rehabilitation of the samurai village after the war. Even Tetsu no Kuni has improved relations with shinobi countries, though they adamantly maintain their neutrality in shinobi affairs the same way the island of Shizoku and Hagakure have forged temporary alliances to shinobi nations.

Her presence in Konohagakure is only temporary. And he, of all people, knows this.

"I doubt you were only invited to teach for a year."

"Yes, but my students learn fast." She says quite smugly. "Once Tenten is able to reach a certain level of proficiency, she will be able to take my place."

Tenten is clearly her favorite among the Konoha Eleven. Besides her skill in a variety of weapons, she possess the greatest amount of physical stamina among the females in the group and is able to maintain her strength and speed longer than anyone besides her own teammate, Rock Lee. It would make sense why she would take Tenten as her student, Tenten's fighting style exists as the midpoint between a shinobi's fighting style and a samurai's fighting style.  To summon an arsenal of real, physical weapons and manipulate them as if they were extensions of one's body, it's as close to her style than anything a shinobi has done.

She has taken Tenten as her trainee because she learns quickly, and that is all she actually looks for in a student.

"And if she doesn't?" It almost sounds as if he's doubting her.

"She is an admirable student. I would teach her more if I can." She admitted.

He suggest without a second breath. "Then why don't you?"

"She has insisted on visiting Hagakure." She smiles minutely. "I will see to her safety, if you would allow her."

Would he have reason to?

"Most of your students are chūnin." He states, returning their conversation. "What did you mean by graduation?"

"When I am satisfied with them."

He frowns behind the mask. "How long would that be?"

"As I have said, they learn fast." She assents. "It wouldn't be long. A few more months, perhaps."

He comments, "That is quite some time."

She exhales. "There are people looking to become my students."

"And there is no doubt that the number would only increase." He adds.

There's a questioning gaze in her eyes when she looks to his seemingly blank face, but doesn't ask him, instead replies firmly, "And Tenten would cater to them. I'd rather she become a teacher than just a mere shopkeeper."

He nods. "I agree."

It would be a waste of talent, after all. She nods minutely, punctuating the end of their conversation.

She settles in her seat, runs her eyes over the collection of vials and bottles on a shelf before asking, "Is there anything else?"

"Nothing more." He clears his throat. "Thank you for your time."

She leaves quietly, standing in the threshold with her back turned to him when she says, "Goodbye."

His breath catches in his throat when she places her hands behind her, raising three fingers on the left and four fingers on the right--seven o'clock, before she leaves the room completely. Silent and subtle--it's not surprising how this is her signal to him, she is the who initiated the entire affair to begin with.

"It's an invitation to bed." She had told him. "You are free to refuse."

As if sex was such a formal affair.

He dared to question her motives the day before their first tryst, but figured it would do him no good and merit him no answer but hard stares. He thinks it's just in her nature, her inherent need to physicalize her frustration either through battle or through sex, exhaust herself in order to begin again. She must have been repressed all her life, he thinks, knowing nothing but battle and bloodshed from childhood.

"Why me?" He had asked in response.

She hadn't answered him that day, and probably has no intention of answering him at all in the future. To her, he thinks, his question is a rhetorical one, that the answer should be obvious--that there is no answer because she isn't going to have sex with him, she's going to have sex with his body. No attachments, no endearments. His hypothesis might be correct, then, that she has selected him out of the handful of men she knew of in the village because of his physical qualities.

"Do you find me attractive?"

It would be unlike her to admit it, but it is part of her criteria. Besides strength, speed, and stamina, physical attractiveness is one of the things she looks for in a partner. If it weren't, she might as well be sleeping with Gai, much to the murderous anger of the beautiful and eccentric geisha, Haru, of her team. The fact that the delicate-looking woman outwardly expresses her attraction to Konoha's Green Beast is amazing in itself, but he tries not to let it preoccupy his mind too much, not with the lingering question of why the steely samurai has decided to sleep with him and why he had agreed to her proposition.

Which is one of the reasons why he's standing in front of her door at eight o'clock at night, hand steady on the door knob--

It's locked.

So he knocks four times.

"You're late." He hears from the other side and can't help but smile to himself.

When the door unlocks, opens, he sees her dressed in a casual robe tied quickly about her waist. He greets her with a shrugs and she greets him with a sigh. This is their fourth--or is it fifth?--tryst and he knows she doesn't tolerate his tardiness, but that doesn't affect her "attraction" to him. So he enters her apartment and locks the door behind him. She gestures to the two-seater couch and he takes a seat.

"Tea? Coffee?" She offers with a sedate tone as she walks into the open kitchen.

It's unlike her to offer, and he isn't particularly thirsty.

"How about we just get this over with?" He suggests lightly.

He hears the sound of ceramic hitting tile and turns to her. There's a hint of shock on her face, eyes wider and mouth slightly agape. He's manage to surprise her, if only for a moment, because she returns her pursed lips and narrow eyes as she questions him.

"Why?" She walks over to him, stops behind the couch with a cup of tea in her hands.

"Wouldn't you want to?"

There's an awkward silence that follows. He breathes through his nose as she exhales through her mouth.

She takes a sip of tea. "Do you plan to be on time tomorrow morning?"

"I have an off day tomorrow." He replies, feeling a little uncomfortable that they're carrying this conversation with her standing directly behind him.

"Then why?"

Her question almost sounds like a complaint, which is why he stands up and turns to speak, "Would you allow me to stay for the night this time?"

She rolls her eyes, replies distastefully, "You always do, anyway."

He finds a bit of comfort in her response, smile behind the mask. "I just wanted to know if you'd allow me to this time."

She exhales audibly before finishing the rest of her tea and placing the empty cup on a counter. "I would be an ungracious host if I just kicked the future Rokudaime Hokage out in the middle of the night."

Her sarcasm amuses him. He chuckles to himself as he returns to the couch. She frowns in response before stepping in front of him, placing her hands on his shoulders and pressing a knee between his legs. He looks up at her and she leans down to him.

"You move when I tell you to." She mutters before straddling him. "Put your hands on my shoulders."

He does as instructed and she kisses his covered mouth. Even through the fabric, he could feel the cold of her body.

"Keep them there." She instructs him as she peels his mask down his face, grazing a nail across his cheek, brushing her thumb against his parted lips. She lowers her mouth to meet his, runs her tongue across his upper lip before taking him completely.

His hands shake as they grip hard on her shoulders, fingers pressing into her body, warm palms rubbing against cold skin. A sound reverberates through his body as she presses close, grinding against him. She's testing him now, testing his patience and his obedience, knows the shaking of his hands on her shoulders is a signal that he'd rather his hands be elsewhere. She parts from his mouth, shifts upward for his mouth to kiss and lick at her neck, feels a greater pressure on her shoulders as he struggles to keep his hands there.

How amusing.

She laughs this time, before quickly coming down to his level to say, "Hands on my back."

Which he follows immediately, pressing his palms and curling his fingers against the fabric as he continues to nip at her neck. He's growing impatient now, if only slightly, he's noisier, rougher. If he wants this as much as she does, then he's clearly showing it.

"Stop." She grabs the back of his head when he gives a languid lick at the her throat. She pulls his head away from her and sees eyes of indifference. She blinks before standing quickly, stepping back and placing her hands at the sash around her robe.

She eyes him before saying. "Stand." He does. "Strip." He removes his shirt when she unties the knot. He removes his pants when she opens the robe.

He keeps his eyes on her when he steps close and brushes his fingers at the skin of her waist, tucks his hand under he robe and presses his palms on her skin. She doesn't shrug off the robe and he doesn't move to pull it off. She doesn't give any instruction, she he stops moving closer when their bodies are only mere centimeters from each other. He breathes against her mouth as his fingers press against her cold skin.

"I am at your service." He murmurs. "What next?"

She pulls away and leads him to her bed. "Lie down."

He does so in the middle of the mattress.

"Arms up."

He raises his hands above his head  as he eyes her carefully, watching as she approaches him with her robe still clinging to her body. She places herself between his legs, holds his wrists in place with her hands before she says, "Don't move."

She begins kissing his neck, rubbing her body against him, feeling him jerk and writhe in her movements. She smirks as she grazes her teeth on his skin, rocks her hips against his, feels the hardness of his cock brushing the outer lips of her cunt.

This early?

She rises, straddles his waist and says, "Wait."

He bites his lip in anticipation. She leans close and kisses him, releases the hold on his wrists, feels the sudden jerk of his body against hers, feels the frantic rubbing and pinching of his hands across her body. She laughs even louder this time before sitting upright, locking her eyes to his as she says,

"Flip me over."

And he does without any hesitation, propping himself up with his elbows as she hooks her ankles behind his knees. Ready. So close. And yet he doesn't move, keeps staring her down as she licks her lips.

"Lace your fingers through mine."

When he does, it's a tight hold and he's forced to lower his body completely, cover her form with his. She grunts at the contact, the head of his cock brushing her slick cunt.

Her final instruction is said with no fear, with absolute power, with perfect  control. She doesn't beg, after all.

"Now fuck me."

It's a little difficult at first, with their hands restrained and their reliance on nothing but the lower parts of their body, but it's a sensation that overwhelms the both of them. She hisses as he penetrates her. He groans as she clenches around him. She jerks her hips upward as he grinds his downward. The frantic movement of their bodies against each other overwhelm the need for control that their hands are screaming for. They grip each others' hands with a certain force, a certain pressure that is dulled by the manic sensations coming from their lower body. Her breaths are almost whispers of 'please, please, please' and his grunts are almost cries of 'yes, yes, yes' but neither of them speak such words to each other.

He's close to release when he curls his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He's close to hers when she pushes her tongue past his lips. It's messy, sloppy, and incessant. They kiss each other to the rhythm of their thrusts. She whines when she orgasms, fingers going lax against his, and he loses his grip when he retracts himself, releases himself over her sheets, her thighs.

He moves to lie beside her and she doesn't stop him.

"Tomorrow." He says between breaths. "Do you have anything for tomorrow?"

"Not until the afternoon." She says, sitting upright. She's about to stand when he interrupts her.

"Wait." He turns to her, moving to hold her wrist on impulse. His hand stops short of hers when she stares him down.

"Why?" She asks, moving her hands away from his.

He continues despite her uninterested expression. "There's new restaurant opening…"

"I'm sure the owners would love to see their future leader grace their opening." She swings her legs to the side of her bed, but before she could stand, his hand wraps around her arm.

"Are you satisfied?" He asks. The grip on her arm tightens.

She sighs. "If I wasn't?"

Is she or isn't she?

"Answer me."

She pulls his hand off her. "Fine."

She turns to him completely, leans towards him and kisses him, tangles her tongue with his. She moans into his mouth when he pulls her on top of him. He whines when she pushes him down before tearing herself away from him.

When she's standing beside the bed does she say, "Thanks for the orgasms I wouldn't be able to have on my own."

When he frowns, shocked and appalled, does she laugh.

"This is nothing personal, Hokage-sama."

At that moment, he could have sworn she almost said his name.

She really almost did.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed writing fight scenes

In the time of the Fourth Shinobi World War, it would make sense why they would have sex with each other; the need to express their frustration, the desire to remind themselves that they are still alive, the twisted feeling of comfort one finds in the arms of their bedmate, the want to rid oneself of the horrors of war. It would make sense why those in the war began coupling with each other; it wasn't out of desire, but it was out of fear. The fear that you might lose the battle, the fear that you might end up dead, the fear that you might live alone for the rest of your days.

The war raged on for several days, but it had felt like years.

She knew of him during the war, the commander a certain faction she had no interest in. And he knew of her during the war as well, as one of the samurai who fought alongside the shinobi. She survived, as did he, and placed herself in the ranks of shinobi as a kenjutsu mentor, following the wish of the previous Godaime Hokage, and the agreement between the samurai and the shinobi nations to aid each other in the rehabilitation process.

She found herself unfit to be welcomed in the ranks of Konohagakure's elite shinobi, and that was when she first met him.

"Shikaku no Shikai." She had introduced herself, bowing slightly.

"Hatake Kakashi." He said in reply.

"You are the Kyuubi-boy's mentor?" Ah, so she had heard of him.

"I was."

"And the healer's?"

He pauses, thinks she means Sakura, before nodding, "Yes."

She blinks, and he can see the slight frown in her features. "They have much to learn."

Of course, he thinks, in her eyes they're only children, but both she and him have already years and years of experience.

He breathes deeply before asking, "Anything else you've heard about me?"

She cocks a brow at his question. "Should there be anything else?"

Her tone is almost arrogant, almost challenging, but then he realizes that his identity as the Copy-Nin is only famous in the shinobi world. He's just as mysterious to the samurai as the samurai are to him. He could replicate shinobi techniques, but could he replicate the samurai's? He's aware that they deal with chakra differently, use chakra differently, but up to what extent could his Sharingan take? If his Sharingan is as formidable as he, and the rest of the shinobi world, believe it to be, what about the samurai? Would they have dō justu of their own? Have Kekkei Genkai of their own?

If Konohagakure had the Sharingan and the Byakugan, then Hagakure had the Shuureigan and two other bloodlines he had yet to witness in action. If he were correct, the Shuureigan was more defensive in its ability, which meant that she might have absolute defense against the abilities of his Sharingan. But that didn't mean that she was immune to genjutsu attacks, which, as he could deduce, was a weakness of any samurai.

"Would you like to spar, Hatake-san?" She had invited him before.

"If you would have me."

He had followed her to an open clearing a few miles outside of Konohagakure. The trees surrounding them still bear the scars of war, and the terrain is uneven. The arena might have been a better place, but they would have to settle for here.

"Three rules." She declared as she placed immediate distance between them. "I declare the start."

She unties the string keeping her swords strapped to their scabbard. "I declare the end."

She unsheathes Yamenoayama, the wakizashi, and looks him straight in the eye. "And it's my full arsenal against yours." She adds, "If I see you worthy of it."

"Full arsenal?" He echoes, thinks she's taking this too seriously.

"Why?" She asks, "Isn't that how would should spar?"

He shakes his head. "For a shinobi, no. At least not the first time."

"Then consider this a change of pace." She says. "Ready yourself."

She steadies the wakizashi in her hand, and he readies a kunai in his. This might be his first time battling a would-be elite samurai, but he never backs down from a challenge.

"Go." It's a whisper from her mouth before she's springs to her feet, charging lightning-fast with her blade poised to kill.

He deflects the blade just in time, and she recoils for another attack. She delivers wide cuts, moves erratically at a pace too quick for novice eyes. The sound of metal clashing against metal is all too familiar to both of them, and they battle each other with calm, almost expectant, expressions on their faces.

She manages to tear the kunai from his grasp, the smaller weapon spinning high into the air before she delivers a downward strike aimed for his shoulder. He evades it just in time, following after the kunai. He grabs the stray weapon and readies three more, totaling to four weapons in his hands. He throws them to her, and she evades all of them.

He performs a technique mid-air, "Suiton: Suidan no Jutsu."

A torrent of water erupts from his mouth and she steadies her blade towards it.

"Kouton: Kongō no Kabe."

Steel release? This is his first time witnessing such an element, and he's not entirely sure how to attack it. A diamond pattern appears on her skin and she holds her blade against she torrent of water, which splits into two upon contact, drenching the surrounding environment, but leaving her completely dry.

"Kiri Te: Michikake."

She moves fast, he notes, as she delivers quick iaido slashes to his direction, sending large cutting chakra blades towards him. He twists and turns mid-air in an attempt to evade all of them. He lands on his hands, but pushes himself back to land on his feet just in time to ready a kunai and charge forward in a counter attack.

"Owari no Te: Gekkou Taketori."

She throws the wakizashi towards his direction, and he meets her attack with the kunai, throwing the blade up into the air. He realizes is mistake when she flashes the briefest of smirks and disappears, only to reappear above him, right where he threw the wakizashi, with the katana ready to deliver a downwards cut. The sharpened steel connects with his body and he disappears in a cloud of smoke.

A shadow clone, she thinks as she lands on her feet. Yamenokayama follows. She looks around for him attunes her eyes to look into the trees, but he is not there.

"Doton: Shinj ū Zanshu no Jutsu."

His hand erupts from the ground beneath her and she throws Yamenokayama just in time before his hand connects with her ankle.

"Kudashi Te: Gesshoku."

She appears in the air and delivers an iaido slash fro the katana, Kunishige, that sends a rupturing sound towards him that breaks the technique and throws him out onto the ground. She charges immediately upon landing on the ground. He jumps back to ready an attack.

"Raiton: Raij ū Tsuiga."

Lightning in the form of a wolf emerges from his hand and runs towards her.

"Kanpeki Shuureigan." She declares, and a diamond appears in her pupils.

So she's activated the bloodline, he muses and wonders what technique she would use.

"Kinji Te: Satsu Jin Ken."

She throws the katana towards the lightning hound and it disappears upon contact. His eyes widen at the nullifying technique; he hasn't seen anything like it, so he jumps back and aims to buy himself some time before rethinking his strategy.

"Doton: Dory ū heki."

An earthen wall emerges from the ground in front of him, and he thinks it enough to cut off her assault.

"Scatter." She throws a fist at the wall before her, and the wall breaks upon impact.

At that brief moment, she reminded him of Sakura.

But Sakura wouldn't continue attacking right after delivering a particularly powerful punch, so the illusion breaks and he decides to go for his most used, and yet most chakra-using attack.

"Chidori."

Lightning engulfs his hand and he charges towards her with the same speed, mirroring her stance as his speed quickens, as he feels his chakra drain from the rest of his body and focus on his attacking hand. He changes his hand into a fist, aiming to avoid cutting through her body, but he soon realizes that his attack is of no use either way, as she declares;

"Fuuji Te: Tsukigasa."

His closed fist meets her open palm, and his Chidori dissipates into smoke. His eyes widen and his jaw hangs agape at the phenomenon; she's managed to stop his Chidori as if it were child's play.

"Easy." He could imagine her saying with such arrogance, but her impassive expression rejects this idea. Instead, her hand closes around his fist, grips tightly as if to throw him off balance.

"I believe I've won, Hatake-san." She says. "Unless you'd want another round?"

He retracts his fist, nods. "If you could take it."

She nods with a smile. "Hand-to-hand, then." She suggests, untying the scabbards from her waist.

"What are the rules?" He asks as he watches her retrieve her discarded swords and return them to their respective sheathes.

"Same rules apply." She says as she rolls the sleeves of her kimono and adjusts her hakama.

He readies his stance, clenches and unclenches his fists. "What about bloodline techniques?"

She shrugs, prepares herself for a defensive stance. "Feel free to use what you think would defeat me."

"Alright." He thinks she's underestimating him.

She nods, signaling the start of the second round. He takes the first move, runs towards her and delivers a kick to her side. She blocks it with her knee, hardened bone, and counters with a fist to his chest. He meets her attack in time and throws her off balance. She stumbles backward and evades a rounding kick to her head, counters with a sweeping kick to his feet. He jumps upward, prepares to deliver a downwards kick to her head, but she blocks it with her arms and throws him off.

He notices that the diamond pattern hasn't disappeared from her skin.

"You're cheating." He calls out after he lands back on his feet. "You've still got that technique activated."

She blinks. "Ah." She does a seal, and the pattern fades away. "I apologize."

There's a brief moment of stillness before she charges towards him with a steady fist aimed for his stomach. He deflects it and returns the attack. She evades the attack and aims a stiff palm to his face. Her attack connects. A resounding slap echoes between them. He follows her attack with a knee to her chest, and she recoils. They continue exchanging blows; he throws a fist to her shoulder, she delivers a kick to his spine, he strikes her abdomen, she strikes his head. He maneuvers behind her and kicks her to the ground. She falls, uses her hands as leverage to push her back up and into the air before landing her knee to his head.

He doesn't anticipate her strength, and loses on purpose.

He drops to the ground and she drops to her knees beside him. He rolls onto his back and breathes deeply, feels bruises forming across his body and shallow cuts stinging him. Cuts? Since when did she--

"Kouton." She says, "It manifests in the hardening of the body, sharpening of the chakra. This is the first time you've witnessed it?"

"Yeah." He nods, breathless.

"I've won again." She states plainly. "But you're a formidable opponent, Hatake-san."

"Thanks, I guess."

"I apologize." She says, eyeing him, "I have no medical supplies with me to treat you, but I am open to treating you to food. It's the least I could do."

Free food is always good, he thinks.

He sits up. "Alright."

* * *

It's not surprising that she brings him to a pub, they're both adults, after all. But he expected she'd bring him to somewhere more…friendly. Somewhere cheaper. Ichiraku Ramen, perhaps, but he realizes one possible reason why she'd brought him here.

"You've got your dignity to protect, Hatake-san." She says. "I'm not sure how your students would react if they see you utterly beaten."

So she holds his dignity at a far higher position than he does, and it only makes sense; she's a samurai and they hold their dignity higher than most. They'd go so far as to commit seppuku in order to protect their honor. To the samurai, the vague, abstract concept of honor is more important than the bonds formed by the shinobi.

"Utterly beaten?" He scoffs. "They've just caught me in a bad time."

"They might think you've gone weaker." She retorts.

"They wouldn't."

"I appreciate your concern, Shikai-san." He sighs. "And the meal."

She orders several dishes: ramen, gyoza, sashimi, among others. It's almost as if it's a celebration for something, or a cover-up for something else. Did she invite other people? Was this some sort of surprise party?

"Hatake-san." She says, suddenly stiff, as he was about to partake in this feast. "Are you seeing anyone?"

Oh. So this is what she called him for? Was this how samurai courted their prospects? They had only met earlier this week, and she springs the question on him? Has she the mindset of a hormonal teenager?

"No." He says after a while of silence. "Why do you ask?"

There isn't any sign of relief from her, no sagging of the shoulders nor a stiffening of the posture, no aversion of the eyes nor a biting of the lip.

She continues, "Are you attracted to anyone?"

He doesn't know how to answer the question, but settles for: "Yes."

He notices how her breath catches in her throat ever so slightly before he continues, "At least, that's what I think."

He's not lying.

"Ah." She mouths before eating a particularly large amount of food.

The silence between then is uncomfortable.

"Would you consider sleeping with me?"

He doesn't respond.

He blinks twice before asking, "Pursuing a relationship with you?"

"No." She replies too quickly. "It's an invitation to bed." She says without any hesitation. "You are free to refuse."

He blinks. Thinks of all the possible reasons why she would suddenly invite him, of all people, seeing as they had only just met formally some days ago. Could she be pinning after him since she's heard of him in the Third Shinobi World War? Could she be attracted to him, after seeing his prowess in battle? Was the spar a test of this? Did she invite him in order to test his prowess in battle, and does it have anything to do with his supposed skill in bed? There seems to be no reason why she would ask him such a question, so he asks her in reply:

"Why me?"

She shrugs in response.

"Do you find me attractive?"

There's a tone in his voice that would usually cause women to stutter and blush, avert their gaze and bite their lip, but not her. She just stares at him with the blankest of stares as if he'd asked a rhetorical question. Setting aside his pride and his ego, he doesn't know if she does find me attractive and is just very straightforward with pursuing her desires.

"You are attracted to someone, the same as I." She says as an indirect reply, "I don't see why sleeping with each other would change that."

He doesn't understand her, why she's suddenly on the defensive.

"What are you proposing?"

"Sex." She states. "No strings, no attachments."

"Why?"

"I'm having difficulty sleeping at night." She says as if it's the most logical answer to his question.

He blinks. Could she be haunted by the war? Could she be experiencing trauma? Does she seek comfort?

"I'm used to fighting." She continues. "There wasn't a day in my life that I haven't tired myself out enough to sleep. Consider it a twisted form of insomnia. If I'm not tired enough, I won't be able to get any sleep."

It makes enough sense as to why she seeks to have sex, but not enough sense why she had chosen him out of everyone in the village.

"Alright."

And yet he had agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Suiton: Suidan no Jutsu - Water release: Water Bullet Technique  
> Kouton: Kongō no Kabe - Steel release: Adamantine Wall  
> Kiri Te: Michikake - Cutting move: Phases of the Moon  
> Owari no Te: Gekkou Taketori - Final move: Moonligt Bamboo Cutter  
> Doton: Shinjū Zanshu no Jutsu - Earth release: Double Suicide Decapitation Technique  
> Kudashi Te: Gesshoku - Finishing move: Lunar Eclipse  
> Raiton: Raijū Tsuiga - Lightning release: Lightning Beast Tracking Fang  
> Kanpeki Shuureigan - Flawless Beautiful Eye  
> Kinji Te: Satsu Jin Ken - Forbidden move: Life-taking Sword  
> Doton: Doryūheki - Earth release: Earth-style Wall  
> Fuuji Te: Tsukigasa - Sealing move: Lunar Halo


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? I must be mad to think I'm writing this properly.

She lied to him that day. She lied to every partner she had so far.

"I fuck to fall asleep." She had whispered to a prostitute as she eyed his naked body.

"I want you to feel better." She had said to a shinobi as she brushed the stubble on his cheek.

"I just need to release all this frustration, you know?" She had suggested to a samurai as she stripped in front of him.

They've slept with (read: fucked) each other for four times in the span of two months. It's a healthy number for any other couple, but they're different. For one, they're not publicly together, and one could hardly call their affair a 'relationship' seeing as they know too little about each other. She knows him as the soon-to-be-Hokage, the Team 7 mentor, the wielder of one Sharingan eye, the remaining member of the Hatake clan. He knows her as one of the Hagakure samurai, the visiting kenjutsu mentor, the leader of Tori-Hana-Ken, the holder of the Shuureigan. All titles and formalities. But he knows where she lives, knows how her apartment looks, but not enough to discern her likes and dislikes. And she knows where he lives, knows his sleeping habits, but not enough to determine his lifestyle.

They can hardly be called friends.

Which is one of the reasons why she's awake before the sunrise. He had invited her to the opening of a new restaurant last night, and she thinks it a gesture one would extend to their lovers after sex, so she had rejected him. However indirectly, she's sure he got her message.

"I have no intention of pursuing a relationship with you." She could have told him, but didn't.

Now she's wondering why she hadn't in the first place, why she had kissed him instead, and why she had even thanked him for the so-called 'orgasms' she would have even if he weren't there. She frowns inwardly, thinks of what course of action to take. She hadn't thought of this before, hadn't thought of the consequences of her words, hadn't thought of the aftermath of whatever had transpired the night before.

But she doesn't think too deeply about it, doesn't let it bother her. She only sought to be satisfied, and she has. She had partners before that would act smug after the sex, partners that would cling to her in an attempt of intimacy, partners that would initiate another round of sex in the morning. She doesn't want any of that, doesn't want any of the baggage that comes with the idea of intimacy. She doesn't seek to be comforted, doesn't seek to be worshipped, doesn't seek to be lusted after. She only seeks to be satisfied.

Is she?

And if she's not, why isn't she?

Perhaps she seeks something else.

* * *

The first time they slept with each other, they made it explicit that they desire another person. This is nothing different. In fact, this is what she prefers. They both mutually pining after someone else, therefore it would be a mutual affair, they're using each other.

"No names." She had said. "It's more impersonal that way."

There she is with being impersonal. It's not that being personal is unwanted, but their circumstance is different. It's possible that they know whoever is desired by the other, and it breaks their pact of possessing no attachments to each other when it comes to the sex. If they knew such things about each other, if they knew the person the other secretly desires, then they would hold something of each other.

"He's strong." She began.

"So is she." He continued.

And they exchange the traits of the person they desire. Hers being strong, younger, pensive, decisive, kind. His being strong, compassionate, level-headed, gentle, brave. It could be anyone, and that comforts them.

If lovers had endearments for each other, they had titles.

"Samurai-san." He called out as he stepped out her door.

"Hokage-sama." She gave him a nod for a goodbye.

* * *

The day after that, she had approached him with an invitation to spar.

"You held back." She stated. "And lost on purpose."

"A test of your abilities." He replied. "I needed to know what you're capable of."

Of course he hadn't agreed to her match with his full strength, that would be unfair for her.

"You are strong, Hatake-san." She frowns. "But have yet to prove it."

She's underestimating him, much like any samurai, and he uses it to his advantage.

Later that day, she calls a draw with the outrage of a ten-year-old child. He had used a combination of water and lightning-style techniques in quick succession and her summoned armor cannot repel both of them at the same time. He had witnessed the elemental style for the first time a day ago and had found a way to counter it immediately. If she hadn't declared her win so easily, then he might have done it.

"Kouton." He muses. "Quite an ability, but not impervious to all attacks."

She, like most samurai, has yet to formulate a technique that counters the shinobi's genjutsu, especially the Sharingan's formidable illusions. And her Shuureigan is nothing special; she cannot break what she cannot see, cannot nullify what is not real.

"You declared your win so easily, Shikai-san." He said. "Hadn't you thought of whether the other party had already accepted defeat?"

"You took my word-"

"Did you, perhaps, declare your victory so quickly as to prevent any counter attacks from me?"

Her jaw hung agape at his words. So he figured it out.

"Do you samurai do that often? Gage each other's abilities and so quickly make judgement without allowing the other an opportunity to truly prove himself?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Then he should have done so from the start."

"If that is what you did, then I'd say you are leagues away from declaring victory over me." His casual tone infuriated her. "I was, after all, a commander, where you were just a soldier."

Her expression shifted from fury to injury. How dare he belittle her position.

"You shinobi think yourselves so mighty." She huffed.

"We are." He replied. "After all, it's thanks to us you samurai had regained the recognition you lost long ago."

The wakizashi, Yamenokayama, flies past his ear and hits squarely on a battered tree trunk.

"You will take that back."

He doesn't.

That day, he realized the stark contrast between their two ideologies. The samurai value their honor, and the shinobi value their bonds. The samurai is made to be at his full strength always, their solitary mode of battle required them to be; they have no one else to turn to, no one to support them, no one to aid them. Whereas the shinobi is made to be versatile all the time, able to adjust to his surroundings and act according to the events as they happen; they work in teams that aim to be one step ahead of their enemy, while at the same time being the shadow of their enemy. The samurai aims to bend the battle to his will. The shinobi aims to bend himself according to the battle.

If the shinobi were as adaptable and as versatile as water, then the samurai are as firm and as solid as the earth. Then again, it is water that changes the landscapes and not the earth.

* * *

So it surprises him when she approaches him the day after their second spar.

"Shikai-san." He greets.

She slips him a piece of paper and leaves without so much as returning his greeting. On it, was the kanji for 'eight.' At first he didn't understand, so he shows up at her door later that night.

She leans against the doorframe. "You're late."

"What's this?" He shows her the piece of paper.

"An invitation."

"Tonight?"

She nods. "Yes."

She invites him to have sex even knowing there's some inherent tension between their beliefs?

He sighs exasperatedly. "You're unbelievable."

She shrugs nonchalantly. "Are you available?"

He blinks. "Have you thought about what I said?"

She looks at him with a vexed expression. "That has nothing to do with me fucking you."

He's shocked at her straightforward, if not vulgar, statement. He doesn't know how to respond to it, so he steps back and considers saying goodbye, but instead says:

"I'm available now."

The second time they have sex, he's half-guessing her intentions, and half-guessing if she's underestimating him even in bed. It doesn't really matter for the moment, sex is still sex.

How lewd a thought that is.

* * *

 

For a week he hears nothing from her.

She's taken the position of a kenjutsu instructor, and created a make-shift dojo in the open space below her rented apartment. The empty lot beside the building is used as well, maximizing the space available to her. She was offered to teach in the academy, a timeslot at the arena, and better pay, but she rejected the offer. She had stated that she would better teach either samurai children or older shinobi, that what she requires in her students cannot possibly be possessed by yet-to-be shinobi.

What a stroke of luck that Tsunade had agreed to her terms. Perhaps it was the privilege of being a sort of dignitary or representative of Hagakure to Konohagakure. Perhaps it was a result of being indebted to the samurai, no matter how little the role they played in the war. Or perhaps it was just the reality, that she hadn't dealt with children before, that she might sooner murder those children she deems incompetent than repeat a lesson a hundred times.

He wouldn't put it past her, but her genin and chuunin students being particularly enthusiastic about their lessons deter his thoughts.

"They are…" She pondered, "Different from what I expected."

"And what did you expect?"

"A smaller number. An older age group."

They've lost many in the war, and it would only make sense that Konohagakure do its best to stabilize its forces with the resources it has on hand.

"Well, good luck." He shrugs.

And then her third invitation to bed comes to him in the form of a hand sign. She had shown him her two hands, fingers spread. Ten in the evening, then?

He looks to her face, but her lackluster expression tells him nothing. If she was feeling particularly aroused, she certainly didn't show it. So he takes the opportunity to see what her true intentions are.

He appears on her doorstep at eleven in the evening and expects her to greet him with an irate, "You're late."

But instead, he's suddenly dragged into the space of her apartment and embraced, her mouth quick to latch upon his covered neck.

"You are bold." He comments as she pulls her clothes off her body.

She eyes him from over her shoulder and she's pulling her shirt up. "I only seek to be satisfied."

"Really?" He steps forward and places his hands on her waist.

"And you," She pulls her shift off and turns to him with an expression no different from her usual stoic face, "Why else would you continue this affair?"

He whispers to her ear, "Perhaps I wanted to determine if you had less than noble intentions."

She laughs a little at that, cups her hands on his cheeks and pulls his face to hers. "Sleeping with you seems to be the most ignoble of them all."

She kisses his mouth through the mask before pushing him away.

"This is just sex." She speaks clearly as she sits on the bed. "I want nothing to do with your shinobi politics, Hokage-sama."

The third time they have sex, he thinks less of what she wants from him, and thinks of what he could want from her. She that is hardened muscle and harder stares, she that is sharp chakra and sharper words, she that seeks to satisfy her libido, she that has had sex with him for three times already without so much as getting to know him completely.

Maybe that's why he'd agreed to her proposition, and why he'd accepted her invitations. He had sexual encounters before; one-night stands, strangers with familiar bodies, and the lot of them seek to find the man behind his mask, fish his secrets out of the darkness, hold him and cradle him. But not her. She seems disinterested in him, expresses her aversion to post-coital conversation, shows her impartiality towards getting to know him.

She hasn't asked him to dinner, or anything of the sort, and he feels like he's being used.

Could it be that he's fine with it?

* * *

 

"I'm sure the owners would love to see their future leader grace their opening."

She might as well reject his invitation outright, but she didn't. She's usually direct with her answers, but her sarcasm offers to him a new side of her. Perhaps her stoic, high-and-mighty persona is characteristic of any samurai? Perhaps underneath the steely façade, she's actually someone he'd appreciate conversing with?

She kissed him that night, even after the sex; kissed him deep and long, something that she hasn't done before. She even joked, thanked him for the orgasm. He can't help but feel a little emasculated at that.

"This is nothing personal, Hokage-sama." She had told him so casually.

So in the morning after their fourth tryst, he considers conversing with her, and it was something neither of them expected.

"I'd like to talk." He speaks to he bare back as she stretches.

"Fine." She eyes him from over her shoulder. "You want anything? Tea?"

"No, I'm fine."

She throws her robe around her body, ties it about her waist. "Suit yourself."

She stalks to the small kitchen, and prepares a kettle of tea.

"We are friends…?" He begins.

"Acquaintances." She corrects as she lights the stove.

"And we are sleeping with each other?" He continues.

"We're fucking each other. " She adds.

"Why?"

"I'm having trouble sleeping." She replies easily.

She looks to him then, and sees his deadpan expression. Naturally, she thinks, he's figured it out.

She sighs, admits: "I have a itch to scratch and you're miraculously available."

She spoke in present-tense, which could mean that she has intentions of continuing their arrangement. He agrees, though, that he's available to address her libido, but wonders if he wasn't, if he didn't feel particularly up to it. They'd both tire of each other soon enough, anyway.

"What if I'm not?" He asks as he stands from the bed. He dresses in his clothes from yesterday in silence.

She has not answer for him. Instead, she watches the kettle.

"I'm going to be the Hokage." He states quietly, as if he hasn't accepted the fact.

"Congratulations." She removes the kettle from the fire before it comes to a boil.

"As if you haven't made that clear enough." She pours the contents of the kettle into a teapot.

"I'm sure there's no one better for the position." Her hands hesitate as she reaches for two cups.

He pulls his pants to his waist. He stares at her, "And you're still going to sleep with me?"

She shrugs. "I can't see why not."

He breathes deeply through his nose and walks towards her, stopping right behind her. "Why me?"

She has her back turned to him and refuses to turn to his direction.

She pauses before answering, "You posses the physical qualities I seek in a partner."

"Wouldn't you consider someone else?"

"No." She replies smoothly.

She pours herself a cup, drinks.

"Why?"

"I don't know enough people in this village." An excuse.

He places a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure you'll find someone-"

She whipped her head to eye him critically over her shoulder. She replies sharply, "I don't have the time."

"Ah." He mouths.

Another excuse.

She turns to him then, leans against the counter as she scrutinizes him. "Are you sleeping with anyone else?"

"No." He admits.

She mutters, "That's not surprising."

What a blow to his pride.

She eyes him up and down before continuing, "You've got an attractive body, Hatake-san, and that might be the only thing attractive about you."

He can't help but smirk. "So you find me attractive?"

She nods. "I do, just not entirely."

He blinks. "Not entirely?"

"You lack respect for time." She counts on her hand. One. "And you always have with you that pornographic book without so much as the decency to hide it." Two.

"It's a work of literature!" He defends.

"The tasteless kind." She retorts.

She doesn't read much, doesn't she?

He backs down. "Anything else you find unattractive about me?"

She looks him straight in the eye. "Your mask is a shoddy attempt at being mysterious." Three.

"You look fine."

She pats his cheek twice and only then does she realize something he'd realize the moment she began conversing with him. Her hand recoils immediately, and she turns away.

"Shikai-san." He says under his breath.

"I apologize." Her tone is steely. "I might have struck a nerve."

"That's fine." He replies. "I've done the same before."

"Ah." She remembers his biting remarks, but feels impartial to it.

"You took offense, and yet you sleep with me?" He wonders aloud. "Do you samurai so easily forget past grievances?"

In truth, samurai are known for holding grudges, as she had before.

"Those were just words." She replies. "However true, they are just words."

She breaths deeply, composes herself before turning to face him.

"And this affair is a matter between my body and yours." She looks at him fixedly. "It has nothing to do with who you are and who I am."

"How long do you think this will last?"

She already has an answer for his question: "Until my body is satisfied."

He lowers his gaze, pities her. "Then you might consider the idea that the body is never satisfied."

She steps close then, whispers in his ear, "Why do you think I had chosen you?"

"You're attracted to my body." He answers simply.

She lowers her chin to his shoulder and murmurs, "You and I seek the same thing."

He already knows that she's lying.

"Empathy."

And he can't help but pity her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks abound. Sorry, didn't check for typos and grammatical errors.

In the Fourth Shinobi World War, she had met a shinobi named Kudara hailing from Sunagakure. He was young, yet he had a wife who was already with-child.

"I hope this war is over already. My wife's having a child, you see." He spoke casually as they took position. She immediately dislikes his carefree demeanor and eyes him dangerously as a warning.

But he continued, apparently as dense as the forest they're hiding in, "The doctor says it's going to be a boy, but I wish it would be a girl. I already have the perfect name for her!"

She continues watching him.

"The first thing I'm going to do after this war is go home to my wife and tell her I love her!"

She scoffs.

Her commanding officer in the squadron, Okisuke, one of Mifune's right-hand men, spoke to her in a hushed whisper, "Let them be. It's good that they have something to look forward to after the war."

She simply narrows her eyes at the older samurai. "These bonds are their weakness."

News have reached their unit that the enemy has utilized the Edo Tensei technique to the point of abuse, and are using it to forcibly resurrect the dead, particularly powerful figures whom most of these shinobi either fear or idolize.

They've resurrected loved ones, even.

And she wonders if the enemy had chosen to resurrect her dead ancestors, perhaps her parents, or even the founder of Hagakure himself. She wonders what it would be like to battle against them, to hear their words and earn their praise.

A foul desire, she knows.

"These bonds are their strength." Okisuke replies. "Shinobi are stronger together,"

"And samurai are stronger alone." She finishes for him. "What does Mifune-sama intend to happen after the war?"

"The attainment of peace." He replies as if it were the simplest answer in the world. "To have the samurai and the shinobi share their strength with each other in order to ensure peace."

It is a grand dream reminiscent of her father's.

"That's to say if Hagakure and Shizoku agree to such a radical proposal."

Most, if not all, the great samurai families still abide by their archaic traditions, still believe in the separation of the samurai from the petty affairs of the shinobi, the maintenance of the samurai code of honor, the perfection of the art of martyrdom--to die for a cause greater than oneself.

Wouldn't that be what the shinobi are already doing?

Okisuke notices her perturbed expression. "You seem to have discovered something."

"The Art of Martyrdom." She says under her breath. "They've done it."

So these 'petty shinobi' have now begun to work as one for a cause greater than their nations, but for the sake of the world itself.

"So it seems." Okisuke agrees.

When she looks at the chattering Kudara of Sunagakure, she listens to his words: "I'm going to protect my darling wife, and my little girl, my Kiseki."

_Miracle._

It's a name given to children born after a terrifying ordeal, a name given to children who were thought to be born dead, a name given to children who survived, a name given to literal miracles of their time.

She scoffs.

"He's hopeful." Okisuke says. "All of them are. They might be terrified, but there's no doubt of the hope in their hearts. It's envious, almost. We've only had to fight for the sake of our pride and honor."

To the samurai, family was secondary, it was pride and honor that came first. It was pride and honor that killed her grandfather. It was pride and honor that had her parents sacrifice themselves. It was pride and honor that hid her brother in the island of Shizoku for nearly fifteen years. It was pride and honor that kept her strong, kept her alive, but is there nothing more to it?

"In this war, we are protectors." Okisuke continues. "In this war, there is no honor, no pride, only victory."

"Victory or nothing." She chides.

"Victory or nothing." He echoes. "And there is no other victory but one with the shinobi."

This is a war waged on all of them, and true victory is a victory for both the samurai and the shinobi.

"So I will protect them as if they were children." She states, and it's almost like a promise, bitter to the mouth and leaving a sour aftertaste.

She had promised Kanemitsu that she would become a protector worthy of Hagakure's praise, and she wonders if protecting these shinobi would allow her to earn it, to become one of the highest-ranking samurai, to become a living legend like her grandfather.

A legend who committed suicide because of an unfulfilled promise made by a shinobi. _How disgraceful._

So when nearly a hundred White Zetsu ambush them from below, she makes no promises to protect them. They should be able to hold off on their own as shinobi. Why else would they have agreed to be enlisted in the war? Surely it wasn't only to protect one's own, because one must be strong in order to call themselves a protector. She is strong, but she is not a protector. She is strong because she is a weapon, a sharp blade ready to kill, not some adamantine shield ready to place themselves before someone else.

If only the person she wanted to protect were still alive, then she might have had the chance to become his protector.

_"You claim to be steel, but look how easily you bleed."_ She remembers him saying.

"Shinobi and samurai alike die everyday in the line of duty." She mutters as she cuts a White Zetsu down. "How would this be any different?"

Their task was to survive. Survive, and push forth. In a sense, the Fifth Division of the War was the most dispensable unit, as they were merely reinforcements. They have no significant part in the grand scheme of things. This is war, after all, and she had spent the thirty or so years of her life to become the unbreakable soldier, the ultimate warrior, the best fighter.

She is stronger than him.

She will prove it to his dammed soul in hell.

So she kills more White Zetsu than anyone else in the unit.

* * *

In the second day of the war, Tori-Hana-Ken, along with a handful of soldiers were sent to ensure the protection of the civilians while the main force battled against Uchiha Madara and the rest of the Akatsuki. It was an unexpected reassignment, they were all doing well in their respective units: Tenkou was an excellent messenger, Haru had an extensive knowledge on medicinal techniques, and she was an unbreakable soldier. But it only made sense later on why they were assigned a task they thought someone else was better suited for.

"What do you mean there's army headed straight for us?" Kudara exclaimed in disbelief.

"It's just as the scouts said." Tenkou replied, petting the swallow perched on her hand. "An army of hundreds."

"We have to contact HQ immediately!" Ginko, a shinobi from Kumogakure, replied.

Jin, a shinobi from Konohagakure, disagreed. "All of the units are occupied right now, the only thing we can do is stand our ground."

"But we can't possibly hope to win!"

She replies next, secures the swords on her waist and says, "Leave it to me."

Haru, who was standing nearby listing down ingredients for healing poultices, overhears this and can't help but frown. She had always been the more perceptive one out of the three of them, but she couldn't bring herself to believe Shikai.

Shikai meets Haru's eyes before looking over all of them and declaring, "I am your protector. Trust me."

Even she doesn't believe in her own words, but as she stands as the representative of the samurai in the absence of her superior officers, Okisuke most noticeably, she merely echoes their words, and she feels more of a shield than a warrior at that point.

"I will take the front line." She continues. "The rest of you ensure the protection of these civilians."

Her steely expression is met by perturbed, shocked, and insulted expressions from the shinobi in the room.

"Are you underestimating us?"

"You're cocky for a samurai, you know that?"

"Don't belittle the might of the shinobi!"

To which she replies with a cold, "If you seek to fight alongside me, I cannot guarantee your survival."

All their expressions turn into furious glares. She continues, "Your survival relies on your own strength, if you are not strong enough, you cannot hope to win."

She takes her leave from them at that, but Haru trails after her.

"You are going to face them all on your own?" Haru comments. "Your brother would be proud."

"This will ensure a greater chance of survival." She replies. "The less soldiers we send to battle, the more protection we could offer to these people."

"And you're the only soldier that can face all of them?"

She doesn't answer.

Haru sighs. "You underestimate them."

"I am protecting them." She grounds out.

Shikai's bold expression deters Haru's attempts at forcing her to reconsider. Shikai had always been so violently determined to have things her way, that's why she works best alone. Haru watches Shikai walk away with all the swagger and pride of a legend.

"I'll mourn for you." Haru calls out as a joke.

Shikai doesn't look back.

* * *

She grips Kunishige with a firm hand, grits her teeth, and reels.

She will protect.

She _must_.

The White Zetsu army erupts from underground, but the scouts were wrong. There were only fifty or so White Zetsu sent to attack the civilians. They weren't strong individually, but their strength was in their numbers. Nonetheless, she persisted in her attacks, keeping herself on the offensive rather than the defensive. She must strike down every one of them, make sure that no one gets past her.

"Souen: Senjin no Mai."

She summons her full arsenal of blades, scatters them about the area, and sticks them into the ground, into the trees.

"Jiton: Itomenashi no Jutsu."

She strings her chakra through all of the weapons. That way, she would have complete control over all of them and ensure the outcome of the battle. She would achieve victory on her own.  She would be protecting them that way.

She strikes the first White Zetsu with Kunishige, cuts him cleanly in half. The second is struck to the head with Yamenokayama, piercing the blade through the head. The third with a tug that pulls a blade to cut through its chest. And then the fourth. The fifth. Sixth. Seventh. They keep coming, targeting her, only her. Good. That way she will ensure they keep away from the civilians.

"Shikai-dono!" A voice, Kudara's, calls out from behind her.

"Stay back!"

The eighth White Zetsu falls.

"You can't face them alone, Shikai-dono." Another voice, Ginko.

The ninth White Zetsu falls.

"Let us help!" A final voice, Jin's.

The tenth falls. Eleventh. Twelfth.

"I'm fine!" She calls out, but they don't listen and attack on their own.

Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.

She has to admit that having allies make the task easier to achieve, faster even, but she had planned to attack the White Zetsu army alone in order to secure the number of casualties to a zero. But now that three people have joined her, she cannot guarantee their safety.

_Shinobi are stronger together_ , she thinks, _they must be._

But when they've halved the White Zetsu army, a foul trick is played on all of them. The remaining White Zetsu transform into them, generating what seems to clones in anyone else's eyes, but a nightmare for the four of them.

"If you're real stand beside me!" She calls out.

"Don't, she must be a clone!" A transformed White Zetsu replies.

Shit. They even got her voice.

"Hold on, I'm real!" Jin says as he dodges Ginko's attack.

"What are we going to do about this?" Kudara asks warily.

She could only think of one way to go about this problem, and hopes that she be forgiven for it. She sheathes Kunishige in its scabbard and prepares for the attack.

"Shikai-dono?"

"It's us!"

She doesn't believe them.

"Ōchiburi!"

She draws Kunishige at a blinding speed and slices the blade around her in a circular motion, sending out rings of sharp, cutting chakra.

"Kiri Te: Michikake."

She rotates in place, sheathing and unsheathing Kunishige to deliver powerful iaijutsu attacks that send out cutting chakra blades around her. These attacks cannot differentiate between ally and enemy, so she has her eyes lowered the entire time, simply relying on sound alone to detect their positions.

In the end, it was a bloodbath, but a victory all the same.

She finds their bodies instantly and her attacks are unmistakably their cause of death, yet she feels no remorse, feels no tightening of her throat, feels no pain at their deaths. If anything, she feels a certain hatred aimed towards herself, towards the enemy, towards the circumstances that led to this point. She even feels a sense of frustration towards the three shinobi, believing that they shouldn't have come and attempt to assist her. Shinobi might be stronger together, but she is stronger alone.

Alone.

She grips Kunishige tight in her hand and grits her teeth in anger. She had promised that she would become a protector, but now they are dead. Her strength disappoints her. Her invincibility mocks her. And from beyond the grave, _he_ laughs at her.

_"You have become the perfect weapon."_ He would say, _"Cold and unfeeling, just like me."_

But he is dead, and she is alive. His mockery of her skill no longer has any bearing on her. His words could no longer reach her. He is gone. But she cannot help but remember how she felt pain at the sight of his death, how she could feel her chest grow tight and her face become hot, how she stood before his cold body and touched his face as if it were the first time, how she wanted to hear his jibes and mockeries, how she wanted to see any semblance of life in him, how she wondered if what she felt for him was love.

She had cried silently at his death, and wondered if love was the reason behind her promise to become his protector.

_"If you do whatever it takes to please me, then I will do the same."_ He had told her before.

_"I want you to make me feel human."_ She had admitted to him in a hushed whisper, _"Fuck me, make me feel vulnerable."_

_"Make you feel weak."_ He laughed. _"If that pleases you."_

And it did. He would fuck her with his hands, his mouth; kiss her throat and press his fingers down her belly. And she would run her fingers through his hair, hiss when his teeth meets her neck, gasp when he licks at her breast. He would press into her, thrust his tongue into her mouth as his fingers did the same to her cunt. She would pull him closer, latch her hands around his torso, meet his every thrust with a cant of her hips.

She would ask this of him for every victory, for every accomplished task, for every completed objective. Her appetite is insatiable; she hungers for release, for the feeling of ecstasy, for the trembling feeling the ripples across her body when he would give it to her. Her stoic demeanor on the battlefield is gone for the briefest of moments, and her repressed, pleasure-seeking shadow comes alive. It begs to be satisfied, begs to be wanted, begs to be given release. Sex makes her human, makes her weak, makes her cry in release, makes her gasp in pleasure. Without it, she would have become a weapon completely, cold and unfeeling.

She is still human. Still alive. _Still alive._

_"Is this all you seek from me?"_ He would whisper against her neck.

She would pull him closer, said in reply, _"This is all you could ever give me."_

She would roll her hips into his and tell him to kiss her. He would, as he would thrust into her and wrap his hands around her neck, press his fingers into her throat. She would gasp, moan, shake in release, and pull at his hair.

_"You are a pleasure-seeking monster."_ He would say against her thigh.

And she would laugh mirthlessly and press her ankle against his back to pull him closer, _"A monster, a beast, a weapon, a companion."_ She would met his glassy eyes with her steel gaze. _"I am anything you want me to be."_

At his death, she was sure that there was no love in it. No love at all.

So it only makes sense that after his death, she sought to be satisfied by someone else.

_"Pleasure-seeking monster."_ She had muttered under her breath as her eyes take in the bare back of a male prostitute. He is younger than her and his skin is softer, scented with vanilla and lavender. His hair is a dark russet shade, and his eyes a light brown.

_"You're so beautiful."_ The younger male had told her.

She kisses him roughly and tells him to fuck her like an animal.

_"If that is what pleases you."_ He had smiled.

But at the end, she was not satisfied. He was too gentle, too soft, too _weak_.

Maybe it was wrong to seek out men who looked like him.

* * *

To her, the Fourth Shinobi World War had ended too quickly. She finds herself in a camp on the outskirts of Konohagakure and wonders how these young shinobi would face the aftermath.

"Shikai-san." Koubaku Haru appears beside her. "What happens after the war?"

"The same as every war." She replies. "Mourning."

Haru's eyes are downcast. "So much has been lost on our side."

Shikai wonders if Haru knows that she had killed three of their own, that she had killed them for her own benefit, that she could have protected them. But she didn't, instead she persisted with her initial plan, and cut all three of them down along with the enemy. It was a necessary sacrifice, and they were only three people. They were dispensable the same as her, but they weren't strong enough. And in war, only the strong survive.

Haru continues, "How will they bury the dead?"

"They'll burn them. They'll build funeral pyres towering up to heaven, and we'll watch them light up the sky and stink up the entire place."

She wonders if she'll find their bodies there, if their ghosts would haunt her later on.

Haru smiles. "That's quite the image."

"And quite the smell." She chides. "I'm sure your flowers will be greatly appreciated, Haru. Just not the kind that will put them to sleep."

The geisha laughs, "Why, Shikai-san, I didn't think you'd be so thoughtful."

"No." She's not. "It's just that the stench lasts for days."

She's witnessed funeral pyres before as a child, and still knows the smell of burning corpses, the sound of mourning, the sight of burning. She has trained herself to handle death with little regard--it's only natural, after all. The strong survive, the stronger live on, and the strongest become legends. The weak perish, the weak must be protected, the weak must become strong in order to survive.

Death is what awaits the weak.

But if that is so, then why had she wanted _him_ to make her feel that way? Why had he died so early?

_"You are still human."_ He had told her long ago. _"_ _Weak. Not strong enough. Not good enough."_

_"Not strong enough to protect you."_ She had told him in reply. _"So even gods need their protectors."_

Haru produces a bouquet of flowers from her sleeve and offers them to her, "The most beautiful flowers for someone who won't even appreciate them."

She stares at the bouquet, looks up at the younger woman's face and sees a genuinely thoughtful expression.

Haru continues, "A lot more wound be dead if it wasn't for you. You've become a protector."

And she holds Haru to her word.

* * *

She watches them burn the funeral pyre and listens for distinct voices that call out the names of the deceased, but what she hears is something else.

"My husband! Please tell me my husband is alive!"

A woman pushes against the mourning crowd.

"I'm going to give birth soon! How could I tell my daughter that her father is dead?"

She could be anyone's wife.

"He was a good man, how could the gods have allowed this to happen?"

They had lost so much on their side.

"Kudara, please bring my Kudara home!"

She clenches her fists, and looks on. The woman begins to cry, and then she becomes no different from anyone else. This was war, after all, and she is no exception from the loss. If only they would understand what was at stake, that the world is bigger than themselves, that they are all dispensable.

Shikai still believes that she has become a protector, in spite of everything else.

A protector. A monster.

Just what in the world is she?

* * *

Months after the war, she finds herself in a complicated affair she instigated with a man she has no personal interest in. Despite his strength and his skill, he is no different from any other man. Except that he is lauded a hero. Except that he praised as a leader. Except that he is going to take the highest position in a shinobi village. She has reason enough to go seek satisfaction in someone else, but she doesn't.

She doesn't know him well enough, has no plans to, and yet she finds herself drawn to his solitude. She had thought before the entire affair started that he was the same as her. He was strong--stronger, actually. He was calculating. He was sure of his decisions. He was ideal.

When he agreed to her proposition, she expected no less of him that she knows in the battlefield, but she was wrong. If samurai were true to themselves in the battlefield, shinobi fabricate themselves with lies. She doesn't know his past, doesn't know of his promises, doesn't know of his sins, and she has no plan to. She doesn't belong here in Konohagakure, so why would she invest herself in the person she is sleeping with?

In their most recent tryst, he began talking to her, much to her chagrin.

He asked, "How long do you think this will last?"

She doesn't say: As soon as Hagakure calls for my return.

She replies, "Until my body is satisfied."

He says in a low voice, "Then you might consider the idea that the body is never satisfied."

She dislikes how his words remind her of _him_.

She retorts, "Why do you think I had chosen you?"

He breathes before responding, his eyes level with hers, "You're attracted to my body."

With his tone, she can already tell that he's defeated.

She makes a sound of approval. "You and I seek the same thing."

She steps forward.

"Empathy."

The unwarranted silence hangs in the air like a noose.

"Empathy." He echoes under his breath. "Is that all you ask?"

Her mouth goes dry and she averts her gaze. She leans back with an intention to step away from him, but he leans forward, latches a hand around her elbow to keep her still. She looks to him sharply, then, and eyes him dangerously. His bare face shows no signs of contempt or sarcasm, only a plain, unreadable expression.

His grip on her arm tightens. She scowls.

"I'm sorry."

_Lies. Lies. Lies._

She tugs her arm away, but his grip keeps her in place.

"You can't learn to empathize with someone through sex." He states. "You have to understand them first."

Her scowl twists into a furious line.

"I would like to get to know you, Shikai-san, if only to understand where you are coming from."

_Even more lies._

"You have the time?" She mutters.

"I have the time now." He answers.

Her jaw stiffens. He pulls his hand away and watches her recoil.

She narrows her eyes and hisses, "Why?"

"It's only fair."

She frowns. "You are attracted to someone else."

"It's just as you said." He mimics her cold tone, "This has nothing to do with who you are and who I am. Therefore, my getting to know you have nothing to do with us having sex. Think of it as a form of diplomatic relation."

Of course. He's going to be their leader.

"And what would come out of it?"

"I figured that if you would come to tolerate my personality and if I would come to understand you, then we can continue this affair. If not, then best we seek partners somewhere else."

_We._ Plural. It's almost as if he's thinking to pursue a relationship with her.

"You sleep with me because you are reminded of someone." He states plainly.

False.

"I sleep with you to satisfy myself." She corrects him. "You sleep with me because you…" She stops.

Why does he sleep with her?

"I sleep with you because you do not know me." He continued. "But if you do…"

"I would go running." She taunts, keeping her eyes level with his.

"You would." He affirms.

She huffs. "Then you underestimate me."

He looks thoughtful. "You must really be attracted to me."

"What can I say?" She taps her fingers on his chest. "I take what I like and I like what I see."

She doesn't tell him that she only likes him when he is half-shrouded in darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Souen: Senjin no Mai - Manipulation Performance: Dance of a Thousand Blades  
> Jiton: Itomenashi no Jutsu - Magnet release: Weightless Thread Technique  
> Ōchiburi - circular move to shake off blood from a blade  
> Kiri Te: Michikake - Cutting Move: Phases of the Moon


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. I was sort of drunk when I wrote this. Apologies if this chapter doesn't make sense.

She doesn't peg herself to be a drinker, but nonetheless finds herself sitting on the floor with a bottle of shochu. Midday is hardly a fitting time to drink, but she is alone in within the four walls of her borrowed apartment, staring at the quiet view past an open window. A slight breeze comes in, accompanying with it the hushed sound of the village. She breathes evenly. Stares.

She feels the thin layer of dust on her fingers when she twists the cap open. She considers pouring a serving in the glass beside the bottle, but instead drinks straight from the bottle's mouth. She knows the drink is more enjoyable cold, and even better when mixed with pickled plums, but she is impulsive, just as she was a few hours before-just as  _he_  was a few hours before.

_"I figured that if you would come to tolerate my personality and if I would come to understand you, then we can continue this affair."_

The alcohol settles in her belly and stings the inside of her mouth a little. She doesn't wince at the sharp taste, but exhales a loud and heavy breath through her mouth. She understands the weight of his proposal completely, but doesn't understand the motivation behind it. If she would come to tolerate his personality? If he would come to understand her? He had proposed such a ludicrous change to their arrangement and yet she did not deny nor question it.

_"If not, then best we seek partners somewhere else."_

We. So he also referred to himself. Does he intend to, as they say, 'fill the void in his chest' through sex? Has he nothing better to do? Is he actually as empty and as hollow as her, then?

"As empty and as hollow." She mutters before taking another swig from the bottle.

If so, then she is right. He is the same as her, seeks empathy the same as her, longs for a person already gone, searches for ghosts in the bodies of other people.

_"You sleep with me because you are reminded of someone."_  He had told her.

She had deemed him a liar then, believed that he couldn't have known of who she speaks of. The knowing tone in his voice suggested otherwise, he's a smart man, after all. He saw through her thought-to-be impervious control of Kouton, and deceived her with his feigned defeat and casual acceptance of defeat. He knows of her most sensitive parts, that beyond her armor of cold steel and sharp eyes hides a woman selfish and hungry.

And she had replied with,  _"I sleep with you to satisfy myself."_

Her voice cracked at her reply, a clear indication that her steely armor had begun to crack. Both his words and hers are true however, and she seeks to satisfy a memory hungry for attention. She seeks to return to a man she had desired so sinfully, so deliriously, a man she had sworn to protect with her life, a man who died with two blades plunged into his make-believe heart. A man not even human, not completely, but a man nonetheless. A man whose approval she longed for, whose words struck a nerve in her, whose mocking jibes and sardonic smiles she mistook for something else.

In the end, he was a man whom she thought longed for her in the same way. In the end, he was a man who had replaced his organs with steel and poison, a man who replaced his beating heart with a canister of chakra, a man whose body could so easily burn in fire, easily rot in seawater. In the end, he was the shell of the man she thought she could have loved completely.

_"What you seek is a companion; a person the same as you, who could feel the same as you."_  He had told her.  _"How upsetting it must be that I am what you desire."_

_"I chose you."_  She had replied, storm-grey eyes meeting dull brown ones.  _"I chose you. I chose you."_

She had kept repeating the same three words as she brushed her lips against smooth skin, polished wood, tasted sand and blood, felt the sting of cold steel against her body, and conjured yet again the illusion that he is real, that he is wholly human, that he loves her.

Loves her?

She takes another swig from the bottle and wrenches her eyes open. A small bird had flown into her apartment and has perched itself atop a cabinet in front of her.

"Send your bird away, Tenkou." She spoke to the bird, "This is none of your business."

But the bird remained perched on the cabinet, and she wondered if it was just an ordinary bird after all. So she watches the bird, dares it to meet her eyes and fly away at an instant. Moments pass, and it doesn't meet her steady gaze nor fly away.

It just stayed.

"Leave." She muttered. "You don't belong here."

But the bird remained.

So she decides to ignore it; she raises the bottle to her lips and drinks again.

_"I sleep with you because you do not know me."_

His reason for agreeing to the entire affair is nothing but simple, but overused. Of course, fucking someone who knows him, and likely knows him very well given the war and all, comes with the emotional baggage and the danger of damaging, if not destroying, one's public image and reputation. But isn't sex with her the same thing, if not more severe? A soon-to-be Kage fucking a visiting samurai. The gossip would decimate them both, mark her either as the woman who stole the hero's heart, the woman who took advantage of a future leader in order to further her status in life, or the woman who destroyed the dreams of likely a third of the female population of marrying such a bachelor.

She would ultimately be deemed the villain of the story.

_"But if you do…"_  He had continued.

So what if she knew of him? Had he such a terrible past that she would come to regret knowing him? Fucking him?  _Please._

So she had replied with a dismissive, if not cocky,  _"I would go running."_

And he had agreed.  _"You would."_

The indicative tone in his voice feels like mockery. Does he think her a coward? A mere girl? But at his words, he reminded her of the man who belittled her, yet allowed her to indulge in worldly pleasures.

She had blinked, and then replied with a equally confident tone,  _"Then you underestimate me."_

But he remained confident and knowing when she thought he would falter like everyone else.

_"You must really be attracted to me."_

She hadn't expected such an answer.

"Fuck."

The word comes out as a hiss, harsh and angry, and she grips the bottle hard enough to break.

Thankfully, it doesn't.

But she had salvaged what remained of her pride by replying,  _"What can I say? I take what I like and I like what I see."_

"Fuck!"

The word came out louder this time, harsher and cruder. Salvaged what remained of her pride? With those words? How coy she must have thought she had been! Had she suddenly reverted to her younger self? What could he think of her now? Will he retract his previous proposal because of it?

In fact, why had he proposed such an absurd thing in the first place?

"He's planning something." She mutters to herself, the warm alcohol buzzing under her skin, "Why would be ask such a preposterous thing of me?"

_"Goodbye, samurai-san."_  His goodbye had been brief, uttered immediately after she had said such coquettish words.

And she had pulled herself away immediately, replied with a detached,  _"Goodbye, Hokage-sama."_

How impersonal.

Now, she has almost consumed half of the bottle of shochu on her own. The bird perched on top of the cabinet is there no longer, perhaps it escaped whilst she had been contemplating on the events of the early morning. She remains seated on the floor, frustrated and buzzed with alcohol without a clear decision on how to go about the sudden proposal. She thinks ignoring it would prove useless, thinks holding it off is uncharacteristic of her, thinks that the only possible answers to such a proposal is either a yes or a no.

Yes or no, it's that simple.

Yes.

Yes?

No. No!

She takes another swig, long and silent, and stops only when she can no longer hold her breath. The bottle is a little over half-empty, now.

"Yes or no." She could imagine him saying. "It's just so simple, samurai-san."

What does he want from her?

* * *

Hatake Kakashi could grate his mind for answers as to why he would ask such a thing of her, but the only one that comes to mind is this:

He doesn't want to be used.

She's the one who instigated the entire affair; ask him to spar and then ask him for sex. He would have likely been a man who would turn down her offer, tell her to find someone else, but somehow he figured he needed the strange sort of comfort that she seeks as well. But he said yes, and the one-word answer was all she needed from him besides his silence.

Surely his silence about the entire ordeal was one of his redeeming qualities.

He doesn't think he could derive any amount of pleasure or pride in declaring his relationship with the stoic samurai, doesn't think it would do either of them any good, doesn't think it would be beneficial to either of them. It wasn't supposed to be a one-time thing, if it was, she would have said so. And it wasn't supposed to be something domestic, something that could comfort the both of them at night, if it were, then they would have invested a lot more of themselves into the arrangement.

But all she asked for him was his body; no post-coital cuddling or conversation. It wasn't that there wasn't time, but it was because she would give him the cold shoulder immediately.

Was he just some cock to her?

If he was, then she would be better off fucking a different person each time. But she did tell him that she dislikes doing so, that she hasn't got the time, nor does she know enough people in the village. But why him? Of all people to ask, why him? And they're already adults, why the desire to pursue such a juvenile type of affair? They should know better than that. She should, most especially.

He thinks to have read her come their second spar, thinks to have discovered the cracks in her armor, thinks to have seen through her ruse, thinks to have come to know her more intimately than he thought he could.

He thinks it's such a pity that she's still so emotionally immature.

It's not that she trained herself to be cold and callous, calculating and collected at all times. No, her training isn't like the ANBU, but it is something harsher, something cruder, something one forces themselves into. If his training entailed him to hiding his emotions under layers and layers of hardened spirit, her training had her coil her emotions tight in her stomach-all her frustrations and her anger, her childish curiosity and her girlish fantasies, and release it like a bomb on the battlefield, or a deranged lunatic in bed.

_Her fury is her power, her lust is her love._

Oh, how poetic.

He thinks to forgive her, for everything she's done and everything she's asked of him, but forgiveness shouldn't come easy for someone like her, for someone who doesn't think they are in the wrong. He wonders if she's aware of her own immaturity, if she's aware of her selfishness, if she's aware of her own desires.

What he pities about her most of all, however, is her choice of who to sleep with.

Of all people, why would she sleep with him?

It's not to say that he thinks of himself as a poor choice when it comes to bedfellows, in fact, he thinks himself to be part of top ten percentile. But he comes with the weight of his past and the burden of his future. He used to think of himself as a man of the present, unchained and uncaged, but that was long before everything in his life began to fall apart. His father's suicide. Obito's death. The unwanted Sharingan. Rin. ANBU. His dear Minato-sensei. Rin.

_Rin._

He still has nightmares, sometimes, though faded and distant as they might seem. Within the pitch black of his sleep is a girl's scream, a boy's laugh, a girl's smile, a boy's eye. He doesn't think he would ever be rid of them, doesn't think it necessary to be rid of them as they are part of who he is, who he was, who he will be. He is indebted to all of them, all the ghosts that still hang around him, and he thinks to dedicate his rule as the Rokudaime Hokage to all of them. And if there is a heaven, he's sure that they're smiling down on him.

_"Congratulations, Kakashi."_

It's heavy and it's weightless, and he doesn't know how to take it.

And when he thinks of her, this woman-turned-weapon who wants nothing from him besides his body, he can't help but think if she was the same as him, someone who chained by the past and caged by their prospective future. But then again, he doesn't know anything beyond her cold body and her cold stare. Sure, she's a profound user of the sword, gifted with two Kekkei Genkai-Jiton and Kouton-a sore loser, has an appetite for sex, and beyond that there is nothing.

He honestly thinks they could be friends, if she would give him the chance. He doesn't have that much many friends, he didn't have many friends actually, and he thinks it would actually do him some good to converse and build relationships with different people, and he's to become the village leader, after all. He doesn't know that many samurai-actually she's the only one he's interacted with a number of times, not counting those few times they've had sex.

But honestly, he just doesn't like to treated like a toy.

He's better than that.

He's a person.

A human being.

So he proposed to her in such a bold move, that they get to know each other past the sex and past the professional façade. Sure, sex is sex, and sex is often good if he thinks about it, but a little investment wouldn't go wrong. She is responsive, but dispassionate. She would hiss and gasp where others would moan and scream. She would hold him off where others would pull needlessly, push where others would grab, stare blankly where others would bite their lips anxiously.

_"I figured that if you would come to tolerate my personality and if I would come to understand you, then we can continue this affair. If not, then best we seek partners somewhere else."_

The slight widening of her eyes and the subtle sight of disbelief in them feels like a small victory to him. Perhaps she is thinking how incredulous an idea that is, or perhaps she is thinking the opposite, that it's actually possible. But whatever she thinks, it is enough for him to see that he's caught her off guard when he thought she'd merely gaze at him with cold, judging eyes.

So he continues to unnerve her,  _"You sleep with me because you are reminded of someone."_

It seemed obvious enough that she is thinking of someone else, but it's quite a curious thing that she doesn't offer herself up completely, doesn't bother to whisper names and scream out profanities. She simply takes and takes, a truly selfish act, as if she hadn't shared intimacies with anyone before.

And her words confirm his suspicions:  _"I sleep with you to satisfy myself."_

She is a self-seeking woman, and there might be several other people who would readily give themselves to her without a second thought, ready to crawl into her bed and fuck as she wanted, but he knows there have been none in her bed other than him. Perhaps she sees her past lover in him, perhaps she looks for resemblances. Or perhaps she sees him as the complete opposite, perhaps she sees him as the cure for her longing.

So she thinks of sex as a sort of means to an end?

So he answers her with a: "I sleep with you because you do not know me."

He doesn't see Rin in her, doesn't see Obito, doesn't see Minato, doesn't see anyone else besides the foreign samurai, the temporary bedmate. She is a stranger to him, and if she would have remained that way, she would have seen him as the same, as merely a stranger, a body to please her.

He honestly wants to get to know her, if only to understand who she is, if only to see if something beyond sex does exist for people like him and people like her. He doesn't think they're much the same, but that only goes so far as he doesn't know much about her. Perhaps she is too different from him, perhaps he is truly alone in the world, the only one of his kind.

How lonely of an existence that would be.

So he threatens her, slightly, and she had replied with a haughty:  _"I would go running."_

The spark in her eyes is obvious; call it pride, but he likes that she doesn't back down from a challenge.

So he nodded:  _"You would."_

_"Then you underestimate me."_

And her tone is confident, almost as if she hadn't been surprised a few moments ago. He appreciates her spirit, reminds him of how brash he was as a child, how impulsive one can be when one wanted something.

So he had replied with a smooth:  _"You must really be attracted to me."_

And she paused, caught off guard yet again, but doesn't hesitate in saying:

_"What can I say?"_  She had matched the suggestive tone with a not-so-subtle tapping of her fingers to his chest,  _"I take what I like and I like what I see."_

What an unexpected reply.

* * *

The bottle of shochu is stored away, and she is lying on her bed, waiting for the buzz to dissipate.

"He's out to protect his reputation." She tells herself, "The entire affair was a liability to begin with."

And she should have known better. She could call herself smitten with his achievements and his strength, his electric touch and his silent demeanor. On paper, he was perfect. In speech, he was even more so. But in person, one could call her underwhelmed not with his performance on the battlefield or in bed, but with his overall personality.

If she thinks about it, he's an overall good man. He's a good teacher, a good leader, an even better shinobi that most that she's come across. He carries around himself a casual aura that unnerves her. There is a certain danger that lingers about him, as well as a certain sadness. Unfortunately, punctuality is a must for her; as well as a straightforward personality, a sense of mutual respect, a penchant for silence, and a desire to please. It just seems to her that he's lacking in some of those departments.

_Oh, if only that man weren't dead, then she wouldn't be looking for him in someone else!_

Shame on her for putting herself and her desires first.

* * *

He's standing in front of their graves, and wonders outwardly, "Was this the right thing to do?"

He thought that sex had nothing to do with morals, and that is existed in the empty space, which could explain how sworn enemies could find themselves in bed with one another, and how strangers could open themselves up completely to each other.

But they aren't enemies, nor are they complete strangers.

Yet he wants to know about her, wants to know how much of her is the same as him, wants to know how she became as calloused as she is, wants to know what makes her cry, what makes her scream, what kind of person would take sex over intimacy and physical affection over emotional connection.

Perhaps, if this were to continue, he would find the answer.

* * *

She concludes that they want different things.

"He seeks a partner." She states to the ceiling above her. "I seek…"

She doesn't know what she wants from him besides his body; the callouses on his hands, the smooth skin of his face, the marred skin of his torso, the thick length of his cock. He kisses her a little too hesitant, holds her a little too loose, thrusts into her a little too slow, as if he's savoring it, as if he's scared of her. But she wants him forceful, wants him hard and fast, wants him close enough for her to devour.

What she seeks is a lover, devoted and submissive.

So she holds him a little too tightly, presses her nails like talons to keep him in place, kisses and sucks as if to consume him, whispers words as if curses to keep him bound to her. She must be getting desperate.

He cannot give her what she wants, and yet she takes and she takes from him.

She begins to feel sorry. She thinks he deserves an apology.

* * *

He thinks they want the same thing: to be understood.

"She is no different from anyone else." He mutters. "She just doesn't know it."

She was a fish-out-of-water in her first few weeks in Konoha-a samurai in a shinobi village? They'd stick out like a sore thumb. What's more, her loyalty lies not with the powerful Tetsu no Kuni, but with the minor village of Hagakure. He hadn't heard of such a place until recently, when preparations for the war were underhand, and that they've received news of a small village of swordsmen vowing to help in any way they can. She hailed from such a village that taught and trained master swordsmen, yet have kept to themselves other than in times of war.

He hadn't known that Hagakure had ties with Konoha before. And he certainly didn't know how much that former alliance had affected her.

But he'd like to know why, if only to find out how to strengthen the ties with the mysterious village, and if he were to build a friendly relationship with her, all the better.

* * *

When she exits the apartment, she finds Haru with an armload of flowers.

"Shikai-san, what perfect timing." She greets her.

She thinks the flowers look lovely.

"I have a favor to ask of you." The younger woman smiles.

"What is it?"

Haru nods to a small bouquet of rosemary placed in the crook of her elbow, "Please."

She takes it, careful not to disturb the rest of the flowers in Haru's arms, and examines the note strung on the stems.

_For a great student, may the flowers of youth forever blossom in your heart._

"You know where the cemetery is, don't you?" Haru says thoughtfully.

She shrugs, frowns. "Why wouldn't you do it?"

Haru rustles the flowers in her arms. "I have my hands full."

"Oh."

She doesn't know why Haru even bothers delivering flowers, why she had decided to assist the young Yamanaka Ino in doing errands and tending to the flowers. Before the war, Haru was untouchable; the very image of grace and beauty, now she has dirt under her fingernails and her tendrils of her hair escape the otherwise elegant updo on her head. But there is a certain flush in her cheeks and a semblance of sincerity in her smile.

Of course, as Haru is in love.

Haru comments, "Tenten is your student."

Shikai replies, eyeing the small bouquet, "I don't know what that has to do with this."

The younger woman laughs softly. "I'm sure she'd appreciate if you'd at least showed some sympathy. She loved him, after all."

In Haru's world, it is only right, but in her world, she has nothing to do with her favorite student's personal affairs.

"Then why won't she give it to him, instead?"

Haru suddenly becomes still, and there is almost a threat of dropping the flowers in her arms.

"You're not seriously as dense as I think you are?" Her voice is shrill, the illusion of beauty is broken.

Dense. Well, she had always been stiff and stoic, not minding about personal affairs, but she was not dense.

"I just think the dead would appreciate it better if-"

"The dead don't care, Shikai-san." Haru states, "If you'd only bond with your dear student, then maybe you would understand the pain that stops her from coming to his grave."

Haru had always been the more perceptible one, but to think that she had known of Tenten's true feelings was a blow to her pride as a mentor.

"I'll be sure to treat her to dinner." Shikai mutters for a reply as the younger woman walks away.

"Tenten is strong, but she is human, and so are you." Haru says for a goodbye.

It's not that she didn't understand Tenten's pain of losing a loved one, but it's because she knows how it feels completely.

"To lose someone when you could have protected them." She mutters, gritting her teeth and gripping at the bouquet a little too hard.

* * *

He doesn't expect her to visit the cemetery, of all places.

With a bouquet of rosemary in her hand, no less.

Their eyes meet; he's about to leave and she just arrived.

He blinks. She does the same.

But time doesn't stand still.

She tears her gaze away from his and makes her away down the path. She doesn't know where he's buried, but she thinks to figure it out on her own.

"Who are you looking for?"

It appears that he hasn't left yet.

"Maito Gai's student."

"He's over there."

He points, but of course she doesn't see it, so she turns to look at him.

"Follow me." He says as he walks past her.

She follows him to a far end of the cemetery and sighs to herself; so much for avoiding conversation.

"Hyūga Neji." He says.

The marker is simple, plain, and it looks just like every other one in the cemetery.

"He was a great student, a proficient user of the Byakugan. He was an intelligent young man."

But he's dead, she doesn't say.

"He died during the war." He continued.

Just one of the many casualties, she supposes.

"He was…" He doesn't know what else to say.

"Tenten loved him." She spoke suddenly, thinking to place the rosemary atop the marker. "And so did Gai, and his other student."

"It's…" She paused, allowing herself to kneel slightly to place the rosemary on the grave, "A pity he died so young. He would have been a great man."

It's a generic saying. She's heard it several times before.

He nods. "He already is."

And then there is silence. It's uncomfortable and awkward, but neither of them know what proper words to say to break it.

But she beats him to it, "Hatake-san. I wish to speak with you."

And they're just standing beside each other as the conversation continues.

"In a better place, perhaps?" He suggests.

"It is a little past noon." She says after a beat. "Have you eaten?"

He shakes his head.

She hesitates. "That restaurant you spoke about before…"

"Ah." He didn't expect her to say that, "If we hurry, we could still make it to their lunchtime specials."

* * *

"Ah, Hokage-sama! You've finally decided to visit! Come, come!"

The new restaurant is homely, quaint and simple, and a relaxed atmosphere pervades the area. There aren't much people despite the hour, which makes sense, since the prices are little more expensive than what most people would rather have.

He doesn't expect her to pay for everything, does he?

He asks the floor manager, "I don't suppose you have a table for two?"

"We have the perfect table!" The old woman replies cheerfully.

And she brings them to a booth at one corner of the restaurant.

"Here you are." She smiles. "Enjoy!"

He slides in the seat easily. "So what did you wish to speak about?"

And she just stares at him.

"I apologize." She bows deeply, "I have not been completely honest with you."

He knows that.

And when she rises, "I initially wanted to have this arrangement with Yamato-san, but I seemed to have crossed a line with him."

Wait.

_Wait._

"Yamato?" He blurts out. "Tenzou?"

She nods.

_What?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and I'm quite intoxicated as I update this. Sorry. I already have plans for the next chapter, however. Fun? Fun.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. Into the unknown! Apologies, as I do not proofread, and it is highly likely that this chapter has a lot of inconsistencies and nonsensical shit.

Shikaku no Shikai does not apologize to anyone.

That statement would be true if she were still her brash and ruthless teenage self, but she is older now, more refined and mature. Still, she could count the people she had apologized to the past thirty years of her life with the fingers of both her hands. It was only because of a certain man's death that she had considered to stop counting.

* * *

The puppet body of Akasuna no Sasori stands before her, his head hanging low, his makeshift heart impaled, and his form supported by the two puppets cradling him as if he were a child. Blood seeps from the wound on the artificial heart, and she thinks what she is seeing is an illusion, that he would spring to life and berate her for making him wait.

But he doesn't.

"Akasuna-san?" She whispers, approaching him slowly.

Surrounding her is a battlefield reminiscent of their spar a few years ago, when she had thought to destroy his most prized Sandaime Kazekage in order to prove her strength over him. She had managed to cut through about forty of his creations before defining a clear opening where she could pierce the electric blade of Yamenokayama through the mouth of the puppet.

_"Owari no Te: Gekkou Taketori." She threw the sparking blade of Yamenokayama towards the opened mouth of the Sandaime Kazekage, but is blocked by a wall of iron sand._

_'Perfect.' She thought, before readying Kunishige in its scabbard and teleporting to where Yamenokayama was._

_She appeared above him, with Kunishige unsheathed and ready to deliver the fatal blow to cut the Sandaime Kazekage's hed from its shoulders. The split-second look of surprise on his face was what embedded itself into her mind as she cut the blade through the air._

_The sound of the whistling sword cutting through wood and metal all the same filled her with a deep sense of satisfaction._

_Only to be replaced by a feeling of shock when she realized that she had cut through his body  in a split-second decision to preserve the Sandaime Kazakage at the cost of his own, although puppet, arm._

_The broken limb falls to the ground, and a loud clattering sound echoes between them._

_His eyes shift from the fallen limb to her, his gaze heavy with anger and admiration, and perhaps the slightest hint of fear. But the fear in his eyes is what she acknowledges, the fear is what fuels her pride, the fear is what plants her guilt._

_But his fear is replaced by a look of surprise when the apology erupts from her mouth, "I'm sorry."_

_She bites her mouth shut immediately. It was abrupt, uncalled for, that even she is surprised at her own words.  She dares to glance towards him, just to see if he would look at her mockingly and say how weak she had become, apologizing to her own enemy._

_But what she sees is a look of utter shock directed towards her._

_The body of the Sandaime Kazekage drops to the ground unceremoniously._

_"I'm sorry." He echoes inaudibly, before charging towards her with the intent to kill._

_But she steels herself, doesn't flinch at all when the sharp end of the stiletto presses against her neck. She merely looks down at him, feeling her pride swell at the thought that he would consider going after her himself, feeling a terrible twinge of guilt at the sight of his desperation._

_She had done it._

Akasuna no Sasori was the tenth person she apologized to, and he was also the eleventh.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She had kept repeating to his hollow corpse, clutching her fists so tight that she could draw blood if her nails were as sharp as her blades.

"I'm sorry." She mutters it as if it were a prayer, as if it were a spell to bring him back to life, falling upon her knees in frustration.

"I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough." She confesses, thinking to herself that if she were, she would have been done with her mission faster.

Faster.

"I'm sorry I wasn’t fast enough." She continued, thinking to herself that if she were, that if she could run as fast as falcon's dive, if she could be as light on her feet as skilled thief, then she would have been able to prevent his death, that she would be able to catch a glimpse of his murderer.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She mutters bitterly, the taste sour in her mouth. She grits her teeth, grinds her molars together as if steeling herself for a fatal blow.

She looks up at his corpse and thinks how fitting it would be for him to die in the arms of his own creations.  His glass eyes have no spark of life in them, she knows they hadn't had a glimmer of life in them ever since she first met his wooden body, but now they look to be completely empty. His mouth, usually filled with snide remarks and degrading comments, now hangs agape, sandpaper tongue now still and silent.

_"You kept me waiting, but this wouldn't be the first time."_

She thinks she hears his voice cut through the silence, but there is nothing.

_"If you're going to protect someone, at least choose someone who could die."_

She had promised to become his protector, and yet she had let him die.

He, who had proclaimed to be unaffected by ageing and disease, to have achieved a key to immortality, to have found a way to a truly invincible body, is dead.

And she, who had sought to find solace in the arms of the hollow man, to satisfy her longing for intimacy for a substitute of his real self, to prove herself worthy to be seen by him in the same way that she imagines him, does not cry.

Her throat is dry and her mind is blank, but she cannot bring herself to cry.

How truly ironic the world is.

She stands and approaches his body, lifts the edge of the whistling sword, Kunishige, to his throat.

"Speak!" She demands. "You are not dead!"

In the back of her mind, she knows it is futile, but she is relentless.

"What was it that you said? That you cannot die? That you shall outlive those who shunned and mocked you?" She continues, a tightness constricting in her chest.

"Then move! Show me that you are still alive!" She screams now, her voice trembling. "Speak. Mock me, insult me, tell me that you are stronger than I am! Tell me that I am weak. Tell me that I am pathetic."

But nothing comes from him. She breathes sharply then, ready to brandish her sword the moment he wakes.

A moment passes.

"Tell me that you pity me."

And another.

"Tell me that…"

And then another.

"Please."

The moment the word escaped her mouth, hot tears began pouring from her eyes. Her body trembles at the sudden outpour of emotion and she feels hot, as if she were burning, and clutches herself tightly, the unsheathed sword falling to her feet. She embraces herself as she cries.

"You're alive. You're alive." She weeps against her hands.

A torrent of emotions rack her body; anger, sadness, frustration, disappointment. She doesn't know if she were crying for him, or for herself as well.

"How could you die?" She questions him, her tone bitter and mournful, cheeks wet his tears. A part of her wants to shake him awake, and another wants to bury him deep underground. He is what she wanted to be and what she wanted to have, but he is also what she loathed, the cause of her own self-doubt.

_"It is a pity that you chose me."_ He had spoke to her before.

_"Even gods need their protectors."_ And she had replied to him.

_"And even protectors deserve their just reward?"_ He had said before he allowed her to kiss him for the first time.

In the end, he had used her as a means to acquire what he wanted, to do what he needed to, and she had used him to satisfy her longing for physical intimacy and the semblance of love.

In the used, she had promised to protect him in order to keep him, and he had allowed her to do as she wished with him because it makes her loyalty tangible, makes her dependent, makes her his own.

She wants to ask him then, as she looks at his corpse, if his reasons for keeping her alive are what she presumes them to be. That she is, to put it simply, better alive.

"Did you keep me alive because you knew I would hold your immortal life at a higher regard than mine?"

Of course, his corpse doesn't answer.

"Or did you plan to keep me alive long enough for me to find Murai and seal it into my soul?"

She smiles bitterly at her own question.

"Well." She huffs as she stands, pulling up one side of her hakama to expose her left leg, to show him a spiraling tattoo around her limb.

"Soujin Rekkai: Murai." She calls out, and a thundering sound clamors from above them.

The mythical blade plummets from the sky and digs into the ground beside her. She plucks the blade easily, and notes how well it fits in her hand.

"The mythical blade you said that I would spend my entire life trying to find." She brandishes the sword, admiring its shine against the sun. "Its unparalleled sharpness could cut through anything. It's nothing you have ever seen before, I swear to you."

She swings the blade behind her, and a large cut appears on the rocks behind her.

"See? It will take me some time to master this blade, so you can wait to kill me until then." She suggests.

 Again, nothing comes from him.

"How pathetic have I truly become?" She asks herself inwardly. "You're dead."

She frowns then, murmurs Murai's releasing chant, and lets the blade dissipate into the air.

"Was your death necessary for me to acquire such a blade?" She thinks aloud. "Was acquiring it wrong?"

She doesn't know whether to blame his death on his own arrogance or her own selfishness.

"I'm sorry."

She wipes her face clean, and leaves quietly.

But when she is nearing the border between Kawa no Kuni and Kaze no Kuni does she cry, louder and harder than she ever thought she could.

She stops counting apologies that day.

* * *

In retrospect, she had apologized a number of times in her life, but there were only about ten people, the reason why she had counted them on her fingers, that she had sincerely apologized to; the frightened Bingo Book murderer does not hold the same weight as her mentor in the island of Shizoku. She apologizes for her own cruelty, for her own mercilessness, for her own sake, for her pride.

But this time is different.

This time, perhaps, she is apologizing for her own misunderstanding, for her own forcefulness. She had never experienced this before.

She calls out to him, "Yamato-san."

It is by mere chance that she crosses paths with him on her way to buy a week's worth of groceries.

He turns to her, "What is it?"

Her own breath catches in her throat at the sight of such a casual expression on his face, but still the apology comes out of her mouth, "I apologize."

It comes out rough and jagged, and she thinks it might be insincere. So she continues hesitantly, "What I said the other day was… uncalled for."

_Uncalled for? She told him to have sex with her!_

She reels. A heavy silence is unfitting for such a bright day.

And he replies with the same hesitation, "Is that all?"

She avoids his steady gaze on purpose, doesn't see the kindness in his eyes nor his willingness to understand. The side streets of Konohagakure are not the best place to offer an apology to someone one has offended, but an apology had to be said, nonetheless. Of course, for what else would she do? The street offers no escape from walking past him. If she was to turn back from where she came, and if he did notice her, what would he think of her then? That she was avoiding him on purpose? How juvenile.

Which is why she decided on apologizing to him. It might not have been the best of places, but an apology deserved to be said.

It has been some time, after all.

Three days, to be exact.

Wait. She had allowed three days to pass before apologizing to him?

_Fuck._

"It was rude of me to presume…" She stops herself, takes a breath, and says, "I hadn't considered your feelings at that time."

To which he smiles sheepishly, feeling nervous, as he says in response, "It was unexpected, that's all."

"I'm sorry." She says with all the weight in the world.

And Yamato wonders if she's taking herself too seriously, taking the entire situation too seriously, thinking that his rejection of such an unwarranted declaration of her… admiration for him is also a rejection of her presence in his life. Perhaps, he thinks, all samurai are like her, too serious for their own good, too tight-lipped and closed-off for anyone else.

It reminds him a bit of his life in the ANBU.

But he's different now, and he thinks he could help her see thing differently, too. It's what friends do, right?

"Shikai-san." He approaches her cautiously, "It's alright. I'm just not used to…"

"No, please." She turns to him this time, a little taken aback at his sudden closeness, but continues her apology, "I'm sorry. Please forget about what I said."

He frowns a little at that. She, for all her maturity, apologizes quite like a child, thinks that her words could be so easily discarded and forgotten. He wonders what could have made her think that way; was it perhaps her life of violence, or her own choice as a means to preserve her innocence in the face of the violent world?

Yamato had always been a thinker.

He wonders what made her a killer as effective as she is, what made her into the protector she vowed to become. He wonders so much about this foreigner in the village, and wonders if she also thinks about the same thing.

"I forgive you, Shikai-san." He smiles genuinely. "If it's alright with you, I would like to start over."

"Start over?" The words sound foreign to her ears.

In the two weeks he has known her, he had gotten to know her through her collection of blades, her penchant for poetry, and her love of spicy food, but he hadn't gotten to know her at all.

"As friends." He nods. "I would like to become friends with you."

She blinks once, twice, and avoids his warm gaze. She feels undeserving of such kindness.

* * *

A person like her is, perhaps, undeserving of such kindness from anyone. As she narrates the story of the abrupt apology and the unexpected forgiveness, she expects him to berate her, to place her at blame, to consider her a selfish, wanton woman.

But he doesn't.

Instead, what meets her dejected face is an expression of shock, albeit only in the eyes, as the lower half of his face remains covered despite the food placed in between them.

"You propositioned him?"

Given Yamato's particular brand of innocence, he would likely draw a line between being acquaintances and being bedmates. So, of course, her out-of-place suggestion that they have sex would definitely be a line crossed. It doesn't surprise him that Yamato would reject such an offhand suggestion, and it doesn't surprise him either that she chose him. Yamato is a gentleman, after all.

She articulates her guilt in two words, "I did."

So when Yamato visited him some months ago, asking if he was wrong to turn down sex, she was the one who asked him?

_"If you don't feel like it, then there's nothing wrong with turning it down."_ was what he said.

And yet, he has found himself in what could have been Yamato's position, with likely the same train of thought that he would have, and feeling the same thing he would have felt.

The world is getting smaller and smaller by the day.

But the question is, would Yamato have done the same thing?

"How long have you known him?" He breaks the silence that has lapsed between them.

She answers promptly, "Two weeks."

That's a lot longer than his. They're not even one week of being acquainted with each other, and she already springs the question on him. What made her take time with Yamato, then? Was she afraid of rejection? Was she in a dilemma between him and someone else? Or was she debating whether or not to ruin a potentially good friendship with such a question?

But instead of asking the questions he thinks she has already thought about, he settles with a casual comment of, "Not that long, huh."

Her loud sigh is a clear signal of her discomfort.

* * *

In retrospect, all events leading to the big question that would have likely ruined a potentially beneficial friendship were misunderstood on her part. When eating together automatically equated to an intimate date, when poetry equated to a means of courtship, when friendly smiles and hand gestures were thought to be signals of affection. In retrospect, such a manner of thinking is traditional, if not outdated. Which resulted in her, likely avoidable, misinterpretation of almost every single thing that occurred between them.

Yamato was just a kind man, nothing more.

But if only she had known that from the beginning, then she wouldn't be asking him:

"Are you sleeping with anyone, Yamato-san?"

He almost chokes on his food at such an unexpected question.

His surprised expression meets her stony gaze, and he flushes slightly. "No, I'm not…"

She cuts him off, "Then would you consider sleeping with me?"

He couldn't believe how she could ask such a question with such a deadpan expression, and moreover, he couldn't believe how she could ask such a question to him. They've only known each other for two weeks.

"Pardon?"

She repeats with the same impassiveness, "Would you consider sleeping with me?"

"I'm not following."

"No. I'm sorry." Her contrite tone betrays her blank face, and she follows with, "Are you attracted to anyone?"

It's an uncomfortable feeling. He feels as if he is being interrogated, placed on the spot and forced to answer. He avoids her steady gaze and tries to explain to her the inappropriateness of her questioning.

"Shikai-san…" He begins.

And his resolute expression meets her questioning gaze. She looks as if she's calculating something, trying to determine the plausibility of an idea, visualizing a plan of action, imagining a set of statements, repeating and repeating them in her head as if to get them right.

But what comes out of her mouth is a blunt, if not insensitive, answer of, "No strings, no attachments, just--"

In retrospect, she could have started with her feelings towards him instead of her actual proposition.

_"In the short time that I have known you, I have come to think that you and I would be quite the pair."_

Too formal.

_"We've only known each other for two weeks, but I feel as if I've known you for a long time."_

Too juvenile.

_"I like you, and I would like to spend more time with you, if you would have me."_

Too blunt?

But she says none of those three statements, which is why his immediate answer makes sense.

"I'm sorry, I just don't feel the same way about you."

His hesitant answer harbors no malice, but bellies pure truth and honesty. So much so that she shuts her eyes and curses inwardly at her previous statement. But at the same time, she had shut her eyes as a reflex from the feeling of rejection, the instantaneous action of disappearance. She closes her eyes because she doesn't want to see his face at her words, closes her eyes because she wants to disappear from this world, closes her eyes because she wants to think that this had all happened in her head.

She knows that shutting it away is a childish thing to do.

_"For all your strength in battle, you have yet to outgrow the mind of a child."_

She should stop remembering that dead man's words to her.

So she opens her eyes, but avoids Yamato's gaze, and replies hesitantly, "You don't?"

He shakes his head, the action itself punctuating his clear answer:

"I'm sorry."

It seems that she hadn't thought this through, hadn't thought about the very strong possibility that he doesn't feel the same way, hadn't thought about the probability that his actions meant what she thought they meant.

Which is why she thinks to retract all her previous statements with a direct, "I think I have misunderstood you."

"Misunderstood? Shikai-san, your question alone is…" He hesitates. "I would… I don't know how to say it."

"Say what?"

His eyes meet hers and there is only an openness in them when he asks, "Why do you want to sleep with me?"

And she thinks of three different answers again.

_"Because you are strong."_

Too shallow.

_"Because you are kind."_

Too vague.

_"Because you are unlike him."_

Too wistful.

In the end, she answers with a plain, albeit with the slightest hint of melancholy:

"Because you are here."

* * *

As she narrated that incident, she was prepared to be laughed at, to be made a fool of, but what he says is a simple:

"To be honest, that wasn't much of a reason."

She sighs. "I know."

She hadn't noticed that he had eaten most of his share of the food, but she had narrated the entire incident without looking up from the meal in front of her. Surely, her soup would have gone cold, the rice would have gone hard, and the meat would have lost its 'melt in your mouth' sensation. When he doesn't reply to her assent, she begins eating; taking a bite of the roast beef first, then a mouthful of the rice, and then a spoonful of the soup.

They're all cold, now.

How long was she speaking, anyway?

Moments of silence pass by, and she doesn't tear her gaze away from the food in front of her, only does so when he suddenly asks a question.

"Who was that person?"

Ah, so she had let that information slip, stated that there was a man in her life before all of this.

She answers with a nonchalant, "He's dead."

Whether it be Okabe Atsumori or Akasuna no Sasori, the characteristic applies to them both.

She readies herself for a follow-up question of who that man was, readies the name "Okabe Atsumori" for her answer as she would want to preserve the friendly hospitality the village has directed towards her and avoid any allegations of assisting a criminal organization of taking over the world. She worked for only one man, not the entire group, and his tasks for her were more often that not courier and scout missions.

He responded with a heavy, but sincere, "I'm sorry."

Silence breaks between them, and she continues eating.

"Does Tenzou remind you of him?" His question comes out hesitantly.

It's an automatic response, "No."

He follows with another, "Do I?"

A pause.

"Not at all." _Obviously._

Both he and Yamato are kinder.

"Then why?" He continued.

She doesn't know how to answer the question, thinks of three different answers.

_"Because both of you are strong."_

_"Because both of you are convenient."_

_"Because both of you are alone."_

All of those are bad answers. She thinks again, narrows the similarities between them, notes the differences.

"Why him? Why me?" He continued to ask.

_"Because he thought of me as a friend."_

_"Because you dared to frustrate me."_

_"Because he was what I wanted in a man."_

_"Because it didn't matter to you who I was."_

Silence lapses, and she finishes eating.

She stops to look at him and wishes her honestly be felt in her words. "Because you are here. Because I trust you."

She trusts him with his promise of silence, trusts him in his handling of her body, trusts that he won't lie, trusts that he would be there.

"Do you, really?"

For Kakashi, trust is an exercise of strength, a proof of the will. It is something earned through hardship and lost through carelessness. For someone to say that they trust him, then he must have done something quite unexpected for them. Like keep the entire affair to himself?

She nods. "Yes."

He doesn't fully comprehend her manner of thinking, but thinks that her confession had only been possible because that she does, in some way, trust him. It's quite comforting, though, the idea that she had begun to treat him like a person.

The hush of the early afternoon crowd disguises the silence between them, but she notices this and asks, "What do you want to happen, Hatake-san?"

"I want to understand where you're coming from."

If she did trust him, then surely she would trust him with an answer to his question. For the past few months that they have known each other, he had only guesses as to why she had, in a way, monopolized him as her sexual partner. If there was trust, as she had said, then surely there must be something more.

But she answers with a certain evasiveness, "I'm just… lonely."

"And?" He thinks to elicit a more concrete answer from her.

"I think that is all there is." She answers plainly. "I think you would understand that feeling."

No, there must be something more.

So he nods, drawls out an, "I do."

She sees a certain spark of curiosity in his eyes and thinks to douse that spark with a dismissive answer, "I'd like to think that there is something for either of us beyond this, but this isn't it."

He blinks, shocked and possibly hurt.

Internally, she is reeling, biting her lip in frustration. Words have failed her.

"What do you mean?"

She doesn't think of three different answers because there is only one.

"To put it simply, you were a nice fuck."

A jab at his pride.

He frowns.

_But that's not all!_ She wants to scream.

"And…" She hesitates, lowers her eyes at the idea of saying such an embarrassingly naïve statement, but says it anyway, "And an even nicer man, perhaps."

She doesn't see the surprise in his eyes.

But when she does look up, her embarrassed expression is replaced by a resolve so determined, one would think she is headed for battle.

"You and Yamato-san are kind, and I do not deserve such kindness."

Her answer is straightforward, blunt, brief, honest, and yet she feels as if she had betrayed a part of her that thinks that she does deserve such a thing. She had used him, maybe even both of them, to her satisfaction. She treated him like a toy to be played with when she was bored, told him that he was nothing but a cock to her, made him feel insignificant. And he had responded to her demands so kindly, kept quiet about the entire affair, came when she asked him to, even if he was late, respected the rules regarding post-coital intimacy, kept things impersonal. If he were displeased with any of it, he didn't express it. If he wanted something more from this arrangement, then he would have told her. If he wanted to quit, then he would have done so.

It's not like she wanted to keep him.

"How could you think that way?"

She is surprised by his question, his aloof gaze suddenly turned pitying, patronizing. She hates it.

Her response is automatic, her gaze turned to steel, "What's it to you?"

He says carefully, thinking that he had stepped on a landmine of her anger, "I want to understand you."

"You want to understand me." She echoes cynically, narrows her eyes. "Why?"

"Because this kind of relationship benefits neither of us." He answers bluntly.

And yet, it feels like a pang in her chest because it was not merely an accusation, but it was true. She remembers his words to her before, _"I figured that if you would come to tolerate my personality and if I would come to understand you, then we can continue this affair. If not, then best we seek partners somewhere else."_

Surely he doesn't think that she had agreed to such a thing? Why, if she did, that would mean making this relationship something akin to an intimacy she wanted to avoid, an intimacy that would definitely incite the memories of a certain man whom she'd rather forget. But she doesn't think about him during sex, doesn't visualize brown eyes or red hair, doesn't imagine the taste of wood and the cold touch of steel, so it is likely that she had already forgotten about the feeling of his body against hers.

If that is so, then could there be anything wrong with accepting such a proposal?

Yes. She thinks of several reasons why it would be wrong.

The primary reason being that he deserves someone else, someone better, someone to mend his wounds, tend to his callousness, ease his pain. Because if it were her, then she would tell him to mend his own wounds, tend to his own bruises, alleviate his own pain. He thinks himself a broken man, but she thinks him already mended. Because if he wasn't, then how could he be so kind to her?

Perhaps it is because she is broken?

_No way._

She had broken herself before, waged war against her own self, turned her own body to tough steel, fought with hands so rough, and spoke with a tongue so sharp. If she were younger, then she might have thought so; longing for an impossible strength, wishing for a distant love, hoping for a chance to become something more. But now she is stronger, now she is faster, she had mended the soul of her tired, younger self with steel and leather, made off with the legendary Murai, survived the war, and moved on from the man she thought was what she wanted all this time.

She had made herself into the way she is now.

If she were broken, then she would have done none of those.

So she answers him, "Then perhaps it is best that I seek someone else."

"You're alright with living the way you already do?"

His question is jab at her spine, but she maintains her steely expression.

_"No."_ She wants to answer.

No, because she is unsatisfied with survival, because she seeks glory, because she is selfish and wants her achievements to be recognized. No, because deep down she knows that she longs to have her history told until the end of time. No, because she wants also to be wanted and loved and needed. No, because she wants to prove to him who is dead that she is better than him, that she has had a life better than his, that she would have been his ultimate, his greatest, his loss.

She is not broken because she can live the way she already does.

"You're fine with being alone for the rest of your life?"

The question is a thrust deep into her stomach, where is it painful and wrenching.

_"Of course not."_ She doesn't say.

She doesn't say it because she does want a life with someone else, because she does want to see a tangible image of her legacy, whatever it may be, because she does want to hear the sound of other voices in an otherwise empty house, because she does want to say "welcome back" to someone that isn't a figment of her imagination.

She is not broken because she has learned to live being alone.

So turns her steel gaze into adamantine when she admonishes his questions with a cold and biting, "Who are you to say that to me?"

Her icy gaze doesn't faze him because he's seen all of this before, he knows what she's doing, and he knows it completely.

"Because long ago, I was just like you."

With his simple statement, he has broken through her armor of cold steel. And it is embarrassing, humiliating for her intimidating façade to be broken by just seven words. So she replaces her cold and steely demeanor with a hot knife.

"Then congratulations." She spat out.

How dare he think her experiences are no different from his. How dare he incite the idea within her that there is something else that could tie them together, that there is something that could become a foundation of a relationship.

She wants so badly to deny herself the luxury of such an idea.

"I'm not patronizing you, Shikai-san." He explains calmly.

He is too kind, too kind.

"You never thought of being where you are, have you?" She hisses. "And the leader of an entire village, no less. Well, all I ever wanted was to be in a position worthy of such honor. And I did everything I could. I became stronger, faster, better with each passing day. I worked to perfect my kenjutsu, trained to master the secrets of my dōjutsu, and yet…"

Now, she just sounds desperate; a whining child complaining to an experienced adult.

"I never wanted to become Hokage." He admits.

Her jealousy is fueled by the achievements of someone else.

"And yet here you are," She frowns, "the celebrated war hero."

He retaliates with a patronizing tone, "I'm not an ambitious man, but I think you already know that."

It is almost like an insult, like salt to a fresh wound. She takes a sharp breath inwardly and notices the sudden change in his expression; he is obviously frustrated with her, almost at the point where his narrowed gaze could be considered a glare. And she recounts all that she had said. She had been insensitive to him, spoke and acted selfishly without any regard for his own feelings in the situation.

Perhaps, she is broken because she lacks the ability to feel the same as others do.

Perhaps, if she were to acknowledge this lack in ability, then maybe she would be able to fix herself.

Her eyes drop to the plate in front of her and softens, the hot glare melting into a warmth she had never allowed that much before. She returns to him slowly, then, test her tone with utmost care,

"I'm sorry." She apologizes. " I don't know the circumstances of your becoming the Hokage, but I think it is only right."

That is as sincere as she could be.

He sighs. "If it were up to me, then I would have chosen someone else, but it wasn't. They chose me, and I have to meet expectations."

She replies smoothly, "You could have said no."

"Even the person I'd rather have as the Rokudaime chose me. It's troublesome, really. To have that amount of trust suddenly placed upon you." He sees her frown, and thinks that she wanted to experience that feeling but never got the chance to. "But it's overwhelming, when you have someone who believes in you, you can't help but believe in yourself."

She nods minutely, thinking that one of the prime differences between him and her was that he has always had the people's trust, whilst she tries so hard for it. Surely that is only right, as he is kind and she is not. Perhaps she could learn a little more of kindness from him.

But she thinks she doesn't deserve it.

He doesn't deserve to be used by someone like her.

"You have been nothing but kind, Hatake-san, and I apologize that I wasn't able to return even an ounce of it." She gives him a small smile.

She places money on the table, an amount that would surely pay for both of their meals, and stands to leave.

"Shikai-san." He calls, but doesn't stand to stop her.

_Good._ She thinks.

"I'm sorry." She says for a goodbye, thinks that her answer to his proposal is clear enough.

And it is.

"So it's a no." He says to himself.

* * *

As she walks back to her rented apartment, she thinks of asking Tenten if she'd like to have dinner later that evening, following Haru's advice. She thinks of buying the kunoichi dinner, or better yet, cooking one of Hagakure's specialties for her, since the young woman had proclaimed her desire to visit the village.

She stops by one of the market stalls, and hears a familiar voice.

"Shikai-ojousan!"

No one in Konohagakure calls her by that title.

She turns to the direction of the voice and sees an elderly man dressed in a light blue kimono.

"Miboshi-san?"

The man in question is one of their retainers, but why would he be here looing for her?

"I'm so glad to have found you!" He approaches her gleefully, "This village's streets are so disorganized--"

"What are you doing here?"

The old man gives her a confident smile and speaks with an air of nobility, "I am here to escort you back to Hagakure. Kanemitsu-sama needs to speak with you urgently."

If Kanemitsu had sent a retainer to escort her back to Hagakure, then it must be of utmost importance. Otherwise, her younger brother would have just sent a letter.

"How soon does he expect me to be there?"

"As soon as you wrap up whatever it is you're doing in this place."

If that was so, then all she needed to do was to treat Tenten to dinner and leave the dojo to her.

"We leave the day after tomorrow." She tells him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, what monster have I created? Feedback is always appreciated.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Owari no Te: Gekkou Taketori - Final Move: Moonlit Bamboo Cutter
> 
> Soujin Rekkai: Murai - Twin Blade World-Splitter: Murai


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you are familiar with Martyrdom is an Art, this is a sequel of sorts. I would very much appreciate it if you would read that work as well.
> 
> As such, these two works will be undergoing reconstruction (as well as a general spell check and grammar editing!):
> 
> For Martyrdom is an Art (which will be changed to The Killer and The Artist), Shikai's history up until she is seventeen years old (because I honestly have come to find it so dubious and lacking that she began where she did).
> 
> For both of these works, Hagakure will now be called Yūkō no Sato (Deep and Quiet Bamboo Grove Village; in short, Silent Bamboo Grove Village), and Ken no Kuni will now be known as Takamura no Kuni (Bamboo Grove Country) because it is inhabited by samurai, and is not a shinobi country (and because it sounds better, tbh). This update will be featuring this change, and come the next update (which would likely be in November), the rest of the already published chapters will be updated for consistency, grammar, and spelling.
> 
> Onto the story, folks!

 

Shikaku no Shikai had expected this to happen, rather, she had been waiting for it to happen. It was only a matter of time before the affair had to be called off. She had apologized to him a few hours ago, so her apology should be sufficient for him to realize that she had called off the entire affair. If she were being poetic, she would say that he was free from her clutches now, but that's not as if she had kept him from courting whom he wanted to court, fucking whom we wanted to fuck.

_"You have been nothing but kind, Hatake-_ san _, and I apologize that I wasn't able to return even an ounce of it."_

It's not like she needed to tell him explicitly that she is calling it off, right? Never mind her telling him that this affair of theirs no longer exists, her leaving should be enough to tell him that.

At least, that is what she supposes.

But then again, she wouldn't be able to leave just because she wanted to. She had packed most of her things with her so, of course, she wouldn't be able to leave without a permit.

Acquiring a permit entailed speaking to him for one last time.

One last time.

A part of her wonders what he would say to her, if he had anything more to say, but she hesitates and postpones it for the next day. She then decides to look for gifts and souvenirs to bring home to her family. It has been quite a long time since she had last visited them; around five years, if she were counting. Would her father still be working at his forge? Would her mother still be teaching in the dojo? Would her brother have fully acclimated to his role as the family head? Would all her other relatives remember her? Would she be worthy of inheriting the Amakuni name? Would she be given the recognition she longed for since she was a child?

Such thoughts filled her head, so much so, that the small, decorated vase she had been holding slips from her grip.

Only to be caught by a familiar hand.

The one who had caught the small vase was the one whom she called as 'Torihime', it was the youngest of their group, the archer-summoner, Asayake Tenkou.

"Tenkou." She greets, obviously caught by surprise.

How unlike her.

The younger woman blinked up at her, eyes showing a hint of curiosity as to why she reacted that way. For the keen and observant Tenkou, Shikai is single-minded and never out of focus, but that is what she has observed in all their time together, be it chasing criminals or stealing back prized possessions. But now that the war is over, their lives of becoming mercenaries for hire might be as well. She hadn't encountered Shikai that much around the village, and this is the first time she had seen the older woman acting quite absent-mindedly.

She wonders why.

"It's nice to see you around town, Shikai-san." Tenkou tells the older woman with a smile. "Is it your day off today?"

"I'm leaving for Yūkō no Sato tomorrow." was Shikai's curt reply.

Rude, Tenkou thinks. She pouts. "And you only tell me now?"

Shikai places the vase back on the stand and smiles to the merchant. Tenkou's jaw was hanging agape at the entire scene. She blinks as she couldn't believe her eyes; there was a semblance of a new form of sincerity in her eyes.

Perhaps she became soft?

Perhaps she has found love?

Perhaps–

But Shikai's gaze turns cold when it is directed at her as she replies, "It was urgent."

The older woman begins walking away, and it is only then that Tenkou notices a large shopping bag slung over her shoulder, and two more bags clutched in one hand.

"I see." Tenkou replies before stepping to Shikai's side to walk beside her. "So what will happen to the dojo?"

"I'm going to leave Tenten in-charge."

Wow, Tenkou thinks, Shkai sounds so sure of herself. She hadn't even asked the girl, and she expected such an answer already? Well, Shikai had always been determined to get what she wants…

"And your apartment?" Tenkou continues.

Shikai pauses. "I don't really know."

Now Tenkou thinks this is the perfect opportunity to ask something she had always wanted to ask. Ever since they were assigned to Konohagakure to facilitate the rehabilitation after the war, Shikai had begun renting an apartment on the far side of town, Haru had opted to stay in the apartment near the hospital in order to look after patients and woo a certain jounin, and she had decided to stay in a cheap hostel, the only one that allowed pets.

Only one pet per guest, however, but that didn't stop Tenkou from attempting to adopt stray cats and dogs.

And the occasional flock of birds.

They had stayed in Konohagakure for a little over half a year, and it is only now that Tenkou asks herself why it is only now that she had thought of why Shikai didn't invite them to stay with her. Surely her apartment has enough space to house the three of them, right?

Or perhaps she had a reason not to.

Tenkou suggests casually, "I could look after it for a while."

"You would?"Shikai asked, the slightest hint of surprise on her face.

Well, she thinks, that would be easier than putting it up for sale.

Tenkou nods eagerly, her mouth upturned into a big grin. "The owner wouldn't mind pets, right?"

"No," She shakes her head. "I bought it, after all."

Tenkou's eagerness is replaced by shock and disbelief. Of the three of them, Shikai is the least likely to take up permanent residency in Konohagakure because by the end of the war, she couldn't wait to go home to Yūkō no Sato to see to her family and to enlist as a part of their elite samurai, the Hagane Juttetsu, as she had acquired Murai several months before.

Murai. Tenkou knows the story behind Shikai's acquisition, and what Shikai thought as a necessary sacrifice for her to acquire it. She just hopes that Shikai gets the recognition she deserves after everything she has done. The man Shikai claimed to love had died, after all, and she still believes that his death could have been avoided if she were… better.

Tenkou thinks it's all bullshit, thinks that her acquisition had nothing to do with his death, thinks that Shikai should stop blaming herself and move on. It might be that Shikai has begun to move on, seeing as how Shikai had actually bought the apartment she was just renting at the beginning of their stay.

"So it's yours now?"

There is a single nod from Shikai, together with a punctuated, "Yes."

"Wow." Tenkou exclaims in disbelief. "I never thought you'd take permanent residency here."

Shikai exhales a lengthy sigh.

"Neither did I, but it's yours now, for the time being."

For the time being?

For a moment, both Tenkou and Shikai are dumbfounded. Shikai supposes that it was simply a slip of the tongue, she didn't mean it, it was just… simply uttered. For Tenkou, however, it might sound like a slip of the tongue, but she knows that there is something lurking beneath Shikai's words. Perhaps Shikai does have an intention to come back, but why? Sure, she might have the dojo, but she was bound to leave it to Tenten sooner or later. Shikai doesn't want to stay here in Konohagakure, doesn't want a stagnant life teaching shinobi who don't take the art of kenjutsu to heart, shinobi who couldn't care less for iaijustu, but…

Perhaps Shikai does want to stay.

"When are you coming back?" Tenkou asks.

There is a pause as Shikai's mouth opens slightly, then closes. She doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how long she will be away, doesn't know if she even wants to come back.

She wants to answer,  _"Never."_

She wants to answer,  _"Soon."_

Instead, she answers quietly, "I don't know."

At least, she is honest.

* * *

That night, Shikai surveys her apartment and takes an inventory of her belongings. She had always lived a simple life on the road, one that was fast-paced, one that didn't allow her to carry much, only essential items, such as her two blades. But in the months following the Fourth Great Shinobi World War, she had found herself to have too much idle time on her hands, so she had begun buying things that had caught her eye. It wasn't that she didn't buy souvenirs and the like in her travels, but it is only now that she began buying a lot of things, things in bulk, furniture, appliances–almost as if she actually is taking up permanent residence in Konohagakure, almost as if she is creating a home for herself in this village she does not belong to.

She looks at the books stacked on one table, the scrolls piled on a shelf, the ceramic tea set on the kitchen counter, the gilded silver and bronze figurines on the cupboard, the liquor bottles on a high shelf, the stand dressed in her battle armor, the two swords displayed beside it…

And don't get her started on the contents of the cabinets and dressers.

She even has a small garden of herbs.

She exhales and drops onto the sofa. She thinks that leaving the apartment to Tenkou might allow her to leave some of her belongings behind, but at the same time, that presupposes that she will return.

She won't return, will she?

"Ojou-san." Miboshi calls out to her, "Shall we begin?"

"Sorry." She says as she stands. "Let's begin."

She thinks of what to leave behind for Tenkou to tend, for Tenkou to use. The girl also lived a simple life, and she didn't need much, except for the space to house her adopted pets.

They pack her clothes first and left the heavier garments behind. Shikai thinks Tenkou would appreciate the gift, and she could always buy from the tailors in Yūkō no Sato. They pack the books and the scrolls next, but left some of the guides behind, such as the Apothecary's Guide to the Flora of Kaze no Kuni. Shikai thinks both Haru and Tenkou would appreciate the texts, after all. The last thing they pack is her armor and her blades. Shikai thinks to wear them instead, to save some space, but then again, she doesn't know what else she will pack.

"The beddings, Shikai-san?" Miboshi asks.

"Ah." She doesn't know what to do with them.

She isn't the sentimental sort, so she doesn't believe that this will bring back so-called memories, nor does she believe that scent or warmth sticks to the fabric. She scrubbed those sheets clean and made sure that no stain is left on them. But at the same time, she doesn't want to leave them to Tenkou–the very idea that her friend is sleeping on the sheets that two people fucked on…

"Let's bring them, Miboshi-san."

As they finish packing, Shikai notices that she is missing one thing.

A towel from her bedside drawer.

_No matter,_  she thinks,  _it's not important, anyway._

* * *

The next day, she sees her prospective protégée arranging the materials for today's session. If memory serves her right, today's session is a kenjutsu one. So she takes her time on the steps, quietly observes how the kunoichi moves fluidly to count and organize the bokken, how the smile on her face doesn't falter, how her energetic charisma has manifested itself despite the early hour.

It's not even past seven, and yet she looks bright as day.

Shikai stretches her arms upward, catlike.

She greets the younger woman with a blunt, "Tenten."

It startles the brunette kunoichi, who hastily replies, "Good morning, Shikai-dono!"

Tenten's wide smile reminds her of Tenkou.

"You're quite enthusiastic today." She comments as she makes her way down the stairs.

"Oh, it's nothing." The girl laughs. "I visited my friend today."

"This early?"

Shikai had always been an early riser, but not that early. She was only dressed in a simple robe, hardly fitting to begin the day, when she decided to check the materials for today's session. She didn't expect Tenten to be in the makeshift dojo already, arranging the materials for her.

"Yes!" Tenten answered as she began placing the bokken on the stands. "Gai-sensei insisted."

Ah. Of course.

She hazards a reply, "Hyuuga Neji?"

For a moment, the kunoichi stares at her, shocked.

"Y-yes." Tenten replies hesitantly, suddenly feeling shy around the older woman, "I just… I felt a little happier that there was someone else besides Lee, Gai-sensei, Hinata, and me who would think to give him flowers."

"He was…" Shikai doesn't know what to say beyond that.

The gentle look on Tenten's face makes her feel a little sorry for being at a loss for words. She has never been good at these kinds of conversations, but she should at least try, according to Haru. She should at least become empathetic to how her student is feeling; she had lost someone before, someone she loved, after all.

_"He was a great student, a proficient user of the Byakugan. He was an intelligent young man."_

She doesn't want to recycle his words, no matter how sincere it would sound, so she settles with, "I heard he was a great student."

She tries her hardest to show Tenten a consoling smile.

And the girl nods vigorously, "He was! I even considered him my rival before."

"I'm sure he would be proud of you."

The fact that she is more surprised than Tenten is at the utterance of such words just shows how she is trying, honestly trying, to get this right. She doesn't want to come off as insincere because if she were, the chances of Tenten accepting her proposal to teach at the dojo would be very slim.

But… that reason makes it sound insincere, doesn't it?

Shikai just wants to be on friendly, comfortable terms with the girl.

"Thank you, Shikai-dono." Tenten bows slightly, a soft smile on her face.

Shikai breathes a sigh of relief. "Tenten?"

"Yes?"

She walks closer to the girl, fumbling with the words in her head before she dares to ask, "Would you mind handling the dojo for a while?"

A look of excitement and surprise comes across Tenten's face.

"No, not at all!" The kunoichi calms herself, "But… why?"

"I'm leaving."

It's a blunt and straightforward answer, which makes Tenten voice a very audible, "Oh."

Her expression shifts to one of slight disappointment. Surely there must be another reason?

Shikai notices this and grinds her mind to think, think, think.

"And…" She begins softly, "I think you have the promise of becoming a great teacher. Your proficiency in a variety of weapons makes you a cut above the rest. I would like for you to continue teaching, if you would allow it."

Candid. Honest. Haru would be proud of her.

Tenten's cheeks flush a bright shade of red at the confession, and bows deeply as she replies, "O-of course! It would be an honor!"

"Very well." She smiles, feeling relieved, before motioning to the bokken. "Shall we? For one last time?"

Tenten nods eagerly and Shikai feels warm at the sight.

* * *

At the time prior to the Fourth Great Shinobi World War, Shikai had heard of legendary weapons manifesting themselves, myths and legends appearing on either side, summoned by the dead, sought after by the living. She wonders if Murai would count, if Murai was as sought after by others as she was. But shinobi haven't heard of the legendary blades, other than the Kusanagi, which had been in the hands of one of their own. Totsuka and Murai had long been forgotten, if they were even included in their knowledge of legendary weapons.

Among all the legendary weapons, the Six Paths Sacred Treasures, were the most coveted of them all. Shikai has heard of such weapons, however unconventional they may be, and had wanted to see them for herself, if only to test Murai against them, and perhaps acquire it for her own use.

But what use would she have for them after the war?

Still, she persisted in her search and found that they were in the very village she had been stationed in, Konohagakure. For more, they were in possession of a kunoichi she had never heard of before.

"She is Maito Gai's student, Tenten."

Haru had introduced the girl to her, looking like a proud mother introducing her young daughter to a family friend. The girl, on the other hand, had a determined look on her face, though her body is trembling, and her knees are bent awkwardly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you!" The girl exclaims, bowing deeply.

She is truly a student of Konoha's Green Beast.

She nods in acknowledgment. "Likewise."

Tenten bites her lower lip at the cold response, steels herself, prepares herself.

Haru begins, "She wants to…"

But Tenten cuts her off when she stands upright suddenly, her determination coming off of her in waves, "Would you allow me to train under you?"

Shikai blinks. "I'm sorry?"

Ah, shit! Tenten curses mentally, wishing she hadn't said anything, quickly retracts and wishes to shrink herself out of sight.

Asking to be mentored by a samurai was harder than she thought.

Haru steps forward, hitting Shikai slightly on the shoulder. "You're terrifying the girl!"

The older, taller woman doesn't reel at her touch, and instead goes to a far shelf, seemingly taking a mental inventory of its contents. Her makeshift dojo has yet to be arranged, as per the Godaime Hokage and the Yūkō no Sato head's orders, that she teach the shinobi in bukijutsu, and already prospective students come to her.

She can't help but feel flattered by this, so she stepped away from them and faced a towards a shelf, hiding a smile behind her hand.

"This is just so sudden." She says. "It has only been two days after the war."

Which is honestly too soon to think about things like this; Haru should be tending to the injured, and Shikai should be resting.

But Haru is persistent. "You don't have plans on leaving anytime soon, right?"

"No, but…"

She is suddenly spun around by the delicate-looking woman. Haru has her hands on Shikai's shoulders, something she would never normally do, as she exclaims, "Which makes this the perfect time to train prospective students!"

Shikai wonders just how fast Maito Gai's energetic persona could affect this woman.

"Haru…" She glances beyond the woman's shoulder and sees Tenten visibly uncomfortable.

She doesn't tear her gaze away from the girl as she asks, "She is Konoha's Weapons Mistress, is she not?"

Tenten replies, "I am!"

She exhales through her nose, and Haru removes her hands from Shikai's shoulders. Shikai makes her way to the girl, taking long strides, and Tenten feels intimidated by it, but at the same time, admires the way she carries herself with such intimidation.

So this is how a samurai walks, she thinks.

Shikai stops short of an arm's length away from her, and Tenten looks up at her, at her serious expression, and can't help but be in awe of it.

The samurai speaks to her in a tone that skims on the fine line between admiration and jealousy, "The legendary weapons came to you for a reason."

And Tenten doesn't know what else to say but, "Th-thank you!"

If she weren't as intimidated as she is, she would have been jumping and screaming in glee. Even she, this samurai, knows about her acquisition of the Treasured Tools and has called her by her title as Konoha's only resident weapons' mistress.

Shikai places a firm hand on Tenten' shoulder, "If you are as promising as Haru says you are, very well."

Tenten almost leaped to embrace the woman, but stopped herself before she could.

* * *

The bokken slips from Shikai's grasp, and Tenten takes the opportunity to disarm her with a quick jab to her hand. It takes Shikai the split second to use her other hand to stop the bokken, and–

_Game over._

Their spar only had one rule, assume that no tricks or techniques outside of kenjutsu are able to be done. Blocking a sword with one's bare hand is inadvisable, if not stupid.

The younger woman bows deeply, and Shikai does the same.

"I was right in choosing you." She tells the girl when they arise.

Tenten bows deeply again, in gratitude, "Thank you very much, Shikai-dono!"

It reminds her of her younger, excitable self, and Haru's words come to her mind, "Tenten is strong, but she is human, and so are you."

So Shikai takes this opportunity to ask, "Would like to have lunch? I'll treat you."

Tenten is visibly taken aback, "Y-you're treating me?"

"Of course," She nods, giving the girl a smile. "It's the least I could do."

She treats Tenten to barbeque, orders prime cuts and a copious amount of side dishes. It's a feast fit for a group, and Tenten thinks aloud that it would have been better if there were other people to enjoy it as well.

"Well, I could treat you and your friends next time." Shikai suggested a little too quickly.

Tenten is hopeful. "Really?"

"I…" Shikai is at a loss for words. "If… If you are ever in Yūkō no Sato, or when I return…"

Shikai doesn't know what to answer.

Tenten's laughter rings in the air, and it's okay. Her young student laughs and everything seems to be okay, so she orders another platter of meat and another round of side dishes. They spend another hour in the restaurant before Tenten tells her that she had promised to visit Gai in the hospital.

Shikai accompanies her to the hospital, though Tenten insisted that she didn't need to.

"It's fine. It's on the way, anyway." She tells her.

Tenten looks around and sees the Hokage Tower.

"The Hokage?"

Shikai hums in affirmation. She turns away from Tenten and breathes out unevenly.

"Well, good luck, Shikai-dono. And thanks for the meal. Goodbye."

She turns to Tenten, approaches the girl, and embraces her.

"Thank you."

She releases Tenten and is quick to leave, posture rigid, and hands stiff at her side. This is the last thing she needs to do before she leaves and she feels the slightest hint of trepidation as she approaches the tower. She had rehearsed countless times in her head and wished that everything would go according to plan.

In retrospect, she wished Miboshi had come to her sooner, before she had apologized to him. That way, things would be easier for the both of them.

But no, she doesn't enter the building. Instead, she stalks towards the nearest bar.

Tenkou had said before that liquor helps calm the nerves.

* * *

Later that day, after downing three glasses of yuzushu, she finds herself standing before the door to the Hokage's office.

His office.

The ANBU stationed on either side of the door pay her no mind and she finds it extremely dubious the shinobi elite guards are fine with foreign strangers suddenly appearing to talk to their village leaders without making prior appointments. If this were Yūkō no Sato, the guards would do a thorough check of anyone who wishes to speak with the daimyo, even if the daimyo thinks it completely unnecessary. However, she also thinks that they are acting in such a way because he was expecting her.

When she opens the door, she sees him pouring over a scroll, a towering stack of papers on the desk.

It suits him, she thinks.

"I didn't expect to see you, Shikai-san." He says without looking at her.

A lie. He must have been expecting her, else the guards would be a little bit more… strict.

Or perhaps they have become lax because of the war, and likely all hostilities, had ended.

She bows deeply from her waist, speaks in a formal tone, "Forgive my impetuousness, Hokage-sama."

She hears him move, likely to lower the scroll he is reading to look at her.

"I assume you are here because…"

She rises quickly, eyes like cold steel, and states, "I need to leave."

Actually, she had thought about how to say such a thing to him. Would explain her brother's situation, even if she only has vague details concerning it? Would she plead with him? Would she garner his sympathy? Or would she tell it to him as she would demand him, command him as she had done during their trysts?

She honestly thought those four words had sounded better in her head.

He blinks.

"Where are you going?"

She hadn't expected such an easy answer from him.

"Yūkō no Sato." She continued.

"Already?" The pitch of his voice rose a little.

She couldn't believe it. Was he truly surprised? Was he expecting this from the beginning? Or was he simply being the cordial village leader to this foreigner who had to go home?

Of course, it's the latter. He is, after all, nearing six months into his position. However, he hasn't taken an oath yet, so he isn't officially the Rokudaime Hokage, which means that she might be better off asking for permission from the Godaime Hokage, Tsunade.

If only she knew where to find her, and if she would grant her request.

"If you would allow me." She murmured, lowering her gaze to the floor. "My brother needs to speak with me urgently."

"What does he wish to discuss with you?"

She expected this question, and she had prepared only one answer.

"It is confidential." She says, her confidence faltering.

How could she say such a thing? Sure, it might be months after the war, but that answer would merit suspicion, and she might be prevented from leaving the village altogether. But what else would she say? All she knows is vague details: her brother, the 7th and current head of the Amakuni family, had asked to discuss important family matters with her concerning the future of the clan. She had been absent from the family for a long time, and it has been five years she had last visited them. She might be the head's older sister, but she has little to no say in the family affairs. Why her brother had asked for her after such a long time is baffling.

Still, she thinks her answer is better than saying "I don't know."

"I see."

She feels her pride swells a little because she half-expected such a response from him. It might be that his laid-back attitude could work for her this time. She might even be thankful for his casual personality just this once.

He taps a finger on his chin in thought. "When are you planning to leave?"

She replies smoothly, "Tomorrow."

"So soon." He blurts out.

Of course, anyone who would ask for permission to leave would have asked at least a week before they actually do.

Yet, she couldn't help but think what she would feel if his response was "Too soon."

"And have you made the necessary preparations?" He continued.

"Tenten will be handling the dojo."

"Until when?"

There was the tiniest hint of urgency in his voice. His body leaned forward very slightly. If she thought anything else, she might think he is being concerned for her, but all she thought was that he was concerned about Tenten and the rest of her students.

Of course. He could–he should–not be concerned about her.

"I cannot say for sure." She answers simply.

A pause.

She exhales through her mouth.

He leans back in his chair and breathes through his nose, slow and deep.

"Well," He clears his throat. "I wish you a safe journey, samurai-san."

A part of her dislikes his easy, laidback, and generally agreeable personality because it doesn't suit a leader's position, but then again, he was chosen for a reason. His talents and skills were recognized, and hers were far from being known at the same caliber as his, so she has no right to judge.

Still, she can't help but be thankful.

"You have my gratitude, Hokage-sama." She bows deeply.

The rest of the meeting went smoothly–if by smooth, one means in complete silence.

With the permit in her hand and the last of her tasks completed, she could leave Konohagakure without any attachments.

But when her hand is placed firmly on the doorknob, does he say, "Shikai-san. I forgive you."

The words are direct, consoling as if he had been meaning to say that to her.

She breathes evenly, showing him her back completely before she replies in a low, sorry tone:

"Goodbye, Hatake-san."

* * *

That night, she walks around Konohagakure to browse the night market for one last time. She had appreciated the wide selection of goods from the day market, but she knows the cheaper and rarer goods are what the night market has been known for. She was in the middle of browsing through a selection of small knives from Torigakure, thinking it would be a nice addition to her collection when she is suddenly pulled by the arm.

She is about to retaliate when she sees the fair woman.

"Haru." She greets in surprise.

And Haru looks a bit more homely than she ought to be, her hair is tied in a simple ponytail, elegant makeup seems to be absent from her face and instead is replaced by a genuine smile, she had dressed herself not in an expensive-looking robe, but in a simple garb quite like those worn by civilians in this town. She has completely acclimated to this way of living.

Or perhaps it is simple because Haru had fallen in love.

"You're leaving tomorrow, aren't you?" The woman tugs on her arm, drawing her away from the stall and into the street.

Shikai sighs. "Tenkou told you."

Of course.

"You gave her the apartment." Haru huffs.

"I did." She nods.

Haru looks mildly surprised at her, knows that it was uncharacteristic for Shikai to do such a generous gesture, and laughs heartily.

"You're giving the bird a place to stay, but I wonder where you'll return to."

"I don't know if I would return here." She admits. "Yūkō no Sato is my home."

Haru's smile fades. "When was the last time you went home?"

"It has been a very, very long time." She murmured.

The simple woman looked concerned and then took long strides past the night crowd, dragging the taller woman with her.

"Haru…" Shikai called out.

"Come." The woman's tone was serious and the smile on her face was wide.

"Drink with me."

* * *

Shikai didn't think of the regal, untouchable geisha of their team to be the one who drinks in cheap bars and eats in hole-in-the-wall restaurants, but here they are in a crowded, outdoor bar.

Haru waves to one of the servers and tells him sweetly, "One bottle of umeshu, please."

"O-of course! Right away!" The young man blushes.

Shikai wonders how Haru had found such a place and how she could be so… tolerant of it. The Haru she knew was one who liked elegant teahouses and quiet, secluded bars that served expensive drinks and finest fish, but now…

"Haru."

She dares think that Haru had become more human.

"You're leaving." The woman in question pouts. "I think I should at least give you a proper farewell."

So Haru orders for them the roast pig, glazed fruits, egg fried rice, and beef noodle soup while Shikai had just stared at her, thinking that Haru must have eaten here quite a number of times for her to order so quickly.

"I'm leaving early tomorrow." She tells the woman, "I really shouldn't–"

"You handle your alcohol very well, Shikai-san." Haru says in that dangerously sweet tone of hers, "I don't see a reason why you should decline. After all, we haven't done something like this ever since the war ended."

True.

Haru nods to the servers, who leaves quickly, before turning to Shikai. "How are you?"

Shikai is honestly suspicious of the woman's intentions. "Is there a reason why you're particularly chatty today?"

"How are you, Shikai-san?" Haru presses, her smile bordering on sharp.

"I'm fine. I had lunch with Tenten yesterday."

"And how was it?"

"She's a kind girl. Quite the observer, and she's very candid." Shikai smiles fondly.

Haru is surprised at the woman's gentle expression, and jokes, "You must have terrified her with your invitation. I bet she wasn't in a place to refuse."

But Shikai had always taken things too seriously, which is why her smile fades into a look of hurt. "I didn't think…"

"She was grateful for that meal, you know." Haru laughed. "She told me all about it in the hospital."

"Oh." She utters. Haru had been visiting the hospital frequently these days, but she doesn't wonder why.

"Is…" She starts, trying to word her question properly. "How is Gai doing?"

"Much better." Haru nods eagerly. "He'll be discharged soon."

Shikai has seldom seen the excited look on Haru's face, which is why she drawls out, "And you will…"

"I will stay by his side." Haru's tone is determined.

Shikai smiles at her words. "That's very kind of you."

Haru continues, sounding as determined and as excited as she could, "I proposed to him, after all."

Shikai thinks she would have choked if she were eating.

* * *

The dinner with Haru went well, except for the knowledge that she had already proposed marriage to the resident taijutsu master of Konoha. Shikai thinks it was only a matter of time before Haru would suggest such a thing to the man she claimed to love, but to propose so soon? And for Haru to actually do it?

Shikai thought of ordering another bottle for herself because of that.

"Oh, don't be shy."

But Haru did it for her.

In the end, Shikai had drunk a bottle and a half of umeshu, to Haru's delight, seeing as she would ask her about any prospective men in her life.

"There are none." Shikai had said. Of course, as she has a strong tolerance for alcohol.

Haru thought to order awamori just to be sure, but Shikai was quick to leave, telling her that she had drunk enough. Or was it perhaps she was afraid she would drunkenly admit to Haru that she had been sleeping with the Rokudaime Hokage? In any case, Shikai didn't think she would say something aloud, but thought about it as she was on her way home.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Miboshi-san." She greets the elderly man sitting on the sofa.

"Don't think too much of it, ojuosan." He laughed. "Though, someone came by to ask for you."

She blinks. "Who were they?"

It must be Tenkou or Tenten.

"They didn't say, but they left a parcel for you over there." He points to a wrapped package on the kitchen counter.

"Thank you, Miboshi-san." She nods to him. "Please, have a good night."

"Good night, ojuosan."

She picks up the parcel. It is unsigned and wrapped hastily, bound with paper, and tied with twine. It was soft. Perhaps Tenten wanted to give her a farewell gift, but was too shy to sign it. Maybe Tenkou found the scarf she had borrowed from her before…

She removes the wrapping and sees a small, cream-colored towel quite like the ones she kept in her bedside drawer. If it had Yūkō no Sato's symbol embroidered, then…

She unfolded the towel.

There was.

She drops the item almost instantaneously. She wiped her hands on her pants; she felt disgusted touching such a thing. She seethes through her mouth, eyeing the towel with disdain.

And then she stops herself. She picks up the towel and dusts it off before folding it again.

She looks at the item in her hand and brushes her thumb over the softness.

"How pathetic have I become?"

* * *

The next morning, she and Miboshi arrive at the gates. The sky is still colored with the warm hues of dawn, and the town is quiet, empty.

But there was one person who was running up to them. It was Tenkou, who looked like she had just woken up and ran out of her room after quickly throwing a robe and a pair of slippers.

"Tenkou." She greets the young woman.

"You don't think I would let you leave that easily, do you?" Tenkou's tone was as if she were talking to her quarry.

"I'm sorry." Shikai says, moving to pat Tenkou's shoulder. "My brother, he–"

But Tenkou embraces her instead. "Family. I understand, Shikai. It's fine. Just… I just wanted to say goodbye."

Shikai embraces her as well. "Goodbye, Tenkou."

Tenkou's embrace tightens before she releases her. She takes a small item from her pocket, a wooden keychain of their team's unofficial insignia, a five-petal flower with a sword for a stem and feathered wings. Tacky, but endearing all the same.

"Here." Tenkou takes her hand and places the item, "Just a little thing to remember me and Haru by."

A pause. Shikai wonders why Tenkou would say it as if she was going to leave for good.

Tenkou says, "It's not as if you'd be gone forever, but…"

Shikai smiles sadly. "You're staying here, too?"

Tenkou shrugs. "I don't know, but I like it here." She smiles fondly.

Shikai supposes that Tenkou is like Haru. If she were waxing poetics, she would say that the beauty had found her beast, and the bird had found a tree to nest in, but the warrior like her hadn't found the recognition she deserved. It would make sense that she would leave, whereas the other two would stay. Haru is getting married. Tenkou is going to be a shinobi. She would become her brother's protector. It all makes sense.

"Did you like it here, Shikai?"

The way Tenkou looks at her makes her feel guilty.

"I did."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold up! This isn't the end.
> 
> I think this was too long, honestly. I just liked writing her other friends too much. Feedback is always appreciated, folks.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I wasn't able to keep my promise that I would have revised all the chapters for spelling/grammar and consistency. Sorry. But I just had to write this one out. I hope that by December, I would have been able to post a new one and update all previous chapters.
> 
> Hey, I'm employed now (since July, actually), and the working life wasn't as easy as I thought. I actually have less time to write than when I was in college (which was only a couple of months ago?).
> 
> Anyway. Here we go!

 

Hatake Kakashi has stopped counting apologies a long time ago.

Beyond his father's suicide, beyond the death of his dear friends, Rin and Obito, beyond the death of his beloved sensei, Namikaze Minato, and beyond the death of all that fell by his hand, he thinks apologies have become a part of who he is. He stops by their graves every morning and stands there quietly.

He would have cried and cursed before their graves, think that the world owed him something, but he isn't like that.

He is a shinobi before anything else, and the world doesn't owe them anything. Sure, apologies deserved to be said, but death is a part of their everyday life, it isn't some strange, otherworldly phenomenon. Death is normal. Death is expected. Death is...

Painful.

"I'm sorry."

For a time, he grew furious, angry, desperate.

But he always knew how to keep his emotions in check, so he never gave in to his despair, never let himself be rules by irrationality and personal grudges.

He is a shinobi, after all.

And the world doesn't owe him anything.

* * *

_"_ _I apologize. I have not been completely honest with you."_

So when this woman of sharp edges and steely demeanor apologizes to him, he feels a little bad for thinking that she owes him that, at least. After all, she used him, fucked him and sought nothing but her own satisfaction.

The world might owe him nothing, but she owes him an apology, at least.

There were times that she treated him more roughly than she usually did, claw at his back and bite the skin of chest, push him into her bed and tighten her fingers around his neck. He knows that she isn't one to mark him, wants no trace of her on his body. She scratches him just enough to provoke him, urge him to go deeper. She bites him shallowly enough to remind him, tell him to stop hesitating.

_"_ _Damn it. Fuck. Go deeper..."_

He could wonder what happened to her earlier that day to make her as rough with him as she is, but he doesn't ask. He isn't in any position to do so, after all. She had told him that beyond sex, their relationship would remain professional; no intimacies, no attachments. She said that it would be easier that way, to the eyes of all, she is the strict, no-nonsense samurai, and he is a war hero who is the soon-to-be Rokudaime Hokage. She is not a harlot and he is not one to give in to sexual desires, even if he's a fan of Icha Icha Paradise.

She might be ruthless in her demands, but she is careful with how she treats him after.

* * *

"Doesn't the Bushido code have a tenet on self-control?" He had asked her before.

He's at least aware of the code of law that binds her, the set of rules she is expected to live by.

"I am ready to deal with the consequences of this affair." She had replied plainly before stripping herself bare.

_Self-control._

Her father had told her long ago that self-restraint is what places the samurai above all people, that loyalty is what makes them a cut above the rest.

She had approached him quietly, looked into his eyes for any hints of hesitation before she told him, "As I've said before, this affair has nothing to do with who we are."

She shows no hesitation in hooking a finger underneath his mask to pull it off, and shows no hint of guilt when she kisses his chin.

It is then that he had made sense of it all. It is highly likely that self-control is the one tenet she cannot accept completely, so she turns to sex, turns to her basal desires. Sex makes her feel in control, makes her feel unbound by codes and laws, expectations and restrictions. She thinks that it is only normal, to desire pleasure and lust for satisfaction.

She had pressed his hand against her breast, pulled him by the hip, rubbed her hand around his cock. He hadn't said anything and neither did she. The way they communicate is quiet, if her moving and directing him could be considered communication at all. Her kisses don't comfort him, and her moans don't reassure him, either.

"Please."

She had led him to her bed and he lied down almost automatically. She crawled on top of him and kissed him, dipped her tongue into his mouth and flicked it against his own. He had kept his eyes closed as she kissed a trail down his neck, pressed teeth and tongue against a nipple, rubbed her hands over the scars of his waist, his thighs.

Something clicked in his head at that time.

Their usual trysts always had him hovering over her as she pleasured herself, had her writhing beneath him as her rammed into her.

But that time, she had her mouth kissing and nipping across his pelvic bone, fingers tracing the hardening length of his cock.

That time was different.

He hissed when she lightly kissed the throbbing head of his cock, moaned when she kept stroking her nails against his thighs as she stroked his cock with her closed lips. A part of him wanted her to take his cock into her mouth, and a part of him wondered what she could be thinking for doing such a thing.

She would never allow him to cum inside her, so why was she...

She lifted herself quickly, then, pressed her cunt against the tip of his cock before pushing herself down completely. He gasped in surprise, his breathing suddenly halted by the slick, tight feeling enveloping his cock.

_"_ _Damn it."_

She had hissed at the suddenly feeling and braced her hands on his chest. She groaned and growled like a wanton animal as she rolled her hips ever so slowly. But there is a sense of desperation in the way she fucks him, a feeling of guilt in the way she looks at him through hazy eyes, a bitterness in her voice as she commands him.

_"_ _Faster..."_

He bucked his hips upward, thrusted deep into her as far as he could. He thought to hear her moan and whine, but he heard nothing but ragged breaths coming from her mouth. He could tell that she was close, so close...

_"_ _Stop."_

She had rolled away from him, left his cock throbbing and her cunt unsatisfied. Her eyes flick to his for the briefest of moments and she isn't surprised by the heat and hunger in his gaze.

Self-restraint.

He knew that she held herself back.

A moment passed before she pulled his hand over her cunt and wrapped her other hand around his cock. His hand had remained still against her dripping cunt as she stroked his cock with her fingers.

She had pressed herself against his hand, growling like a hungry beast. Her felt her heat, plunged his middle finger into her, and he pressed his thumb against her clit.

_"_ _God..."_

She had made no move to pull him on top of her. Instead, she had craned her head away from him, as if embarrassed by her moaning face.

They had never done his before, and, at that time, he had wondered what made her think of doing such a thing. He had read about mutual masturbation in the earlier volumes of Icha Icha, but to think he would be doing it himself, and as a finisher, no less.

Her hand that was wrapped around his cock had tightened uncomfortably as she cummed over his hand, but he had been the come to cum first.

He had never thought to see his seed dripping over her fingers, but there it was.

He had noticed the briefest flickers of disgust on her face, however, as she stood from the bed.

"Excuse me."

He closed his eyes and listened as she walks away, bare feet padding across the wooden floor. A door is closed. A faucet is turned. Running water.

Of course. She always showered after sex, clean herself thoroughly and remove any trace of sex on her body.

At first, he began to think that it's one of the measures she takes in order to ensure that nothing more transpires between them, that it's kept isolated from her daily life. He's read about cuddling after sex, about basking in the post-coital afterglow, and he's even heard of significant conversations that happen after, but he knows she wants none of it.

His right hand is sticky, so he uses his left hand to pick up the small towel placed on top of her bedside table to wipe himself off. After, he picks up Icha Icha and begins to do some light reading.

She had taken too long in the shower at that time, and he wondered if she was using the time to think, as one does.

But when she emerged from the bathroom with damp hair and a robe tied tightly around her body, she had told him in a detached tone, "You are free to use the shower, you know."

If they were in an Icha Icha novel, that would be an invitation to either sex or domesticity.

Or both.

But she told him before that her apartment was equipped with hot water, and he isn't one to take cold showers in the morning.

"If you insist."

So she disappears into the bathroom for a short while, and whens he returns, she hands him a fresh towel for a nearby cabinet, tells him that she's provided him with shampoo, soap, that he's free to use whenever.

How kind of her.

When she is sure that he's showering, she eyes the small towel she gave him the first time they had sex, and sees traces of his cum on it.

"Disgusting." She muttered before walking to the kitchen to boil a pot of tea.

She takes a canister from the back of cupboard and stares at the label on the can, says to herself that she needs to ask Haru for another batch of jasmine, black cohosh, thistle, and pennyroyal.

She brings the kettle to a boil, empties the contents of the can into a tea strainer.

She wonders what Haru might tell her when she does ask her for those herbs.

_"_ _If you drink enough of this, you might become infertile."_

But she thinks that Haru would likely tell her to be careful than anything else, so she drinks the tea hot and without honey to remind her.

_This is no means to an end. This is just..._

She doesn't hear him approach her, and she is slightly jolted by his voice, "Shikai-san?"

"What?"

She turns to him, sees the dirtied towel in his hand.

"May I keep this for a while?"

She doesn't understand why he has to ask. It isn't as if she wants to keep it, anyway.

But the fact that his cum was on it...

"You're going to wash it?" She asked.

"It's the least I could do." He shrugs.

She gives him a paper bag to keep it in, and huffs as if waiting for some response from him.

"I'm off, then." He tells her.

"Goodbye, Hokage-sama."

She shuts the door behind him and feels a little happier. This is the first time he went home right after they've had sex.

She tears the stained sheets off her bed, pulls the pillowcases off, and dumps them all in a washing tub.

That night, she sleeps in the armchair in her living room.

* * *

That happened two months ago, and he hasn't returned her towel, nor has she asked him for it. He doesn't think of it as a keepsake, nor does her think it's something to remind him. It was just a towel. It had no inherent meaning, and he is better off returning it to her as soon as he can.

But he doesn't know when the proper time might be, doesn't know what returning it could mean for both of them.

But what could it mean?

It was a towel.

Just a towel.

"Shikaku no Shikai." He reads the embroidered kanji alongside the edge of the towel aloud.

Visibility of the samurai character.

_Shikai_. Her name meant visibility.

He wonders if it was her true name, if 'Shikaku' was a title or a moniker she went by.

Then he sees the embroidered symbol of Yūkō no Sato on one corner, the four-petalled flower with two crossed swords underneath it. He has seen it before, on the back of some of her robes that were hung to dry by the window. He had thought to ask about it before, but he thought it would have been out of place.

Now, some months into their affair, he thinks to ask her the next time she calls him.

That would give him an opportunity to return her towel without sounding so... rude, perhaps.

He wants to get to know her, honestly.

* * *

However, she hasn't given him a chance to do so. She is sharp steel and cold iron in the way she talks to him; she doesn't want him getting to know her, she doesn't want him  _wanting_ to get to know her. It makes things complicated, and she wants his affair entirely just physical.

_"_ _I take what I like and I like what I see."_

If she weren't acting cold, she would be acting coy.

Just another defense mechanism, he supposes. But to him, she is no different from anyone else, she is no different from him.

It is because he knows her, understands what made her what she is.

She is acting the way she does because wants to be stronger.

Just like he was before.

In the back of his mind, he thinks her method is immature, that the way she turns to sex as a release is something that should be fixed. She's an adult, the same as him, and he wants to know what made her think that her method is the proper way.

Perhaps she has misunderstood the tenet of self-control.

He's a good man, at least that is what he thinks, and he wants to help her, wants to get to know her, wants to become a friend.

_"_ _Hatake-san. I wish to speak with you."_

So when she asked to speak with him, he thinks it to be the best opportunity to get to know her.

_"_ _I initially wanted to have this arrangement with Yamato-san."_

It was an unexpected starting point of their conversation. But, in retrospect, their conversation had to start somewhere, and that was the best start.

She had become honest with him for what might be the first time, so he found a little comfort in that.

All things considered, he wondered what she saw in Tenzou, what she saw in him. He wonders what made them her two choices in men, if she saw her past lover in them, or if she saw the complete opposite, but what she answers is unexpected.

"Because you are here. Because I trust you."

There is a sincerity in her eyes that he wishes to uncover completely. They've fucked each other a number of times, they might as well be past all pretenses now. She's beginning to become honest with him. It is as he wants, after all.

But she turns cold the moment the silence begins the separate them.

"What do you want to happen, Hatake-san?"

She must think it incredulous to move from "acquaintances with benefits" to "friends... with benefits." He thinks Konoha would benefit from her staying here, thinks that they could be actual friends, that they might get past this sexual affair and move onto something better for each of them.

She tells him that she's just lonely, and he understands that feeling, knows all too well how it is to become alone, but he hopes that she realizes that she doesn't have to be.

"I'd like to think there is something for either or us beyond this, but this isn't it."

There was no semblance of hope in her tone as she said that. She had answered so plainly, as if she had already accepted the inevitable.

She's going to break this off, isn't she? Think it appropriate to tell him to forget everything that happened between them and become civil.

He thinks it's an opportunity to return her towel, albeit a very awkward one.

"To put it simply, you were a nice fuck."

Her words hurt him. He opens his mouth to retort, to call out her rudeness, but the next thing she says completely floors him,

"And an even nicer man, perhaps."

She had said it with her eyes closed, as if it were a confession she had been wanting to say for the longest time.

Hatake Kakashi is a nice man, a kind man, and coming from her, it sounds like praise.

"You and Yamato-san are kind, and I do not deserve such kindness."

But she is quick to sell herself short, so he responds to her statement the best way he can. He knows how she could think that way, knows that her being used to her solitude is a factor in why she acts the way she is. She is a fighter, before anything, a warrior, a guardian. She had no time for intimacies and friendships, and anything resembling what he holds at value now.

She is too much like he was before, and he knows how destructive it could be.

Of course, just as he was a child, she is quick to put walls around herself, fortify herself with armor and the phrase, "What's it to you?"

He knows that she feels cornered and has no other option but to antagonize any who try to help her because she is so firm in her belief that she's right.

But she isn't.

That's why he tries to reason with her, tells her that this kind of affair would benefit neither of them. They're adults, and they should have an adult relationship. It not an intimate relationship, at least a relationship that promotes growth and the betterment of the self.

That's not to say that he's considering of pursuing a real, intimate relationship with her.

He isn't.

But he might consider it.

But because she is still emotionally immature in her way of thinking, she answers him with a cold, brash tone as she says:

"Then perhaps it is best that I seek someone else."

It's frustrating how the way she thinks that ending things this way would be better.

"You're alright with living the way that you already do?"

She doesn't answer.

"You're fine with being alone for the rest of your life?"

Wrong question. Now it sounds as if he's indirectly suggesting marriage.

But the way her face scrunches up, the way she has forced her eyes hut, the way her jaw tightens at the question is enough to prove to him that she doesn't.

So it comes as a surprise when she maintains the steel of her voice as she asks, "Who are you to say that to me?"

She's in denial. If only she had gotten to know him a bit earlier in their relationship, then she would have already realized what he is about to say.

"Because long ago, I was just like you."

She refuses to believe it, and keeps an effort to maintain her cold, steely demeanor as she berates him, tells him of her ambition, her bitterness. And he meets her blow by blow, he's honesty unfazed by all of this, by her ambition and her animosity towards him. She will later on understand, but he still explains it to her in a way that she would understand.

"I'm sorry." Her apology confirms her understanding. "I don't know the circumstances of your becoming the Hokage, but I think it is only right."

At least, she is sincere, and that is enough for now. But what she says also confirms that they know near to nothing about each other.

But at the very least, she is beginning to understand.

So it still surprises him when she leaves abruptly.

"You have been nothing but kind, Hatake-san, and I apologize that I wasn't able to return an ounce of it."

He could move to stop her, but he doesn't. He's done enough for her, and now it's time for her to figure things out by herself. She might still rely on the steely demeanor as a defense mechanism, but she's learning to be honest, she's becoming kind, she knows how to apologize. They could actually be friends. They could actually be in a healthy, adult relationship. She could even...

He isn't shy to admit to himself that he likes, if there was a word to put it, having sex with her. She knows her way around men, knows how to please, and knows what she wants. She is no blushing virgin, nor is she is an insatiable nyphomaniac. If he were to take it a step further, he could say that she began considering his own pleasure, that she would ensure that he's satisfied the same way she is.

Sex is sex.

And sex with her is good.

So he can't help but feel the slightest tinge of disappointment.

But he likes to think that she might come around, that she might actually want to get to know him, and remove the veil the prevents either of them from becoming too attached to the other. It's not like she's going to leave anytime soon, is she?

Call it an ego boost, but he'd like to hear how his name sounds from her mouth.

* * *

So it comes as huge surprise to him that she is actually going to leave.

When she arrives in his office the next day, she is her usual self, cold and detached, but he wants to think that there is something different about her. He hasn't looked at her enough to determine if her hard features had indeed become softer somehow, hasn't been with her enough to see if there is a new-found gentleness in the way she moves, but he thinks that there is, because her usual cold stare is replaced by a tentative expression, as if she's thinking really hard about what to say.

He doesn't look at her for long, however, and is quick to return his eyes to the scroll before him.

"I didn't expect to see you, Shikai-san."

The way she bows before him is stiff, professional. Her tone calm and aloof, "Forgive my impetuousness, Hokage-sama."

She is polished in the way she talks, moves. It is only right. Beyond their activities in her bedroom, they are no more than acquaintances in this village.

"I assume you are here because..."

He wonders what she is going to say to him, if it is another apology, or perhaps she has realized something, perhaps she is going to say more about herself, perhaps she would invite him for dinner.

"I need to leave."

That was the least of the things she had expected to say, but his respect for his soon-to-be position in the village prevents him for blurting out, "What? Why?" It's unprofessional and unwarranted no matter how much he thinks to be appropriate in such a situation. In this room, in this moment, neither of them can be anything but professional.

They're in the Hokage's office, his office, after all.

But wouldn't that mean that he could, at least, be on a personal level with her? Does he have a right to it?

He wants to ask her why she has to leave all of a sudden and if it was, perhaps, because of what happened between them yesterday? Has she somehow come to the conclusion that her leaving would be best for both of them?

He doesn't think that he has the right to ask her such a thing, so instead, he asks, "Where are you going?"

It's a simple enough question, one that isn't too invasive.

And she answers with, "Yūkō no Sato."

"Already?"

He broke his professional façade for a moment there, and she had noticed it. So she is going home? Why? Does she hope to reconcile with something or someone from her past? Could it be that her past lover had been from the same village as her? Does she wish to take some time for herself to reflect on what she will do next? On where she thinks her place in the world is?

He stops himself from thinking too much because he, after all, knows little to nothing about her.

"If you would allow me."

Why wouldn't allow her?

"My brother needs to speak with me urgently."

Ah, so she has family. That's... good for her. Quite unexpected, though. He had always thought that she had been alone for as long as she could remember. He's a little embarrassed to think that he had thought that way about her. Perhaps she isn't as similar t him as he thought.

"What does he wish to discuss with you?"

"It is confidential."

Her refusal to answer arouses suspicion within him, but he thinks that she isn't one to lie about such things. Call it a hunch, but he trusts her word for it. She has become a bit more honest with him recently, and it wouldn't really make sense that she would revert to lying to him.

He's a shinobi, he knows when someone is lying, and the look in her eyes tells him that what she says is true.

"I see. When are you planning to leave?"

It wouldn't be right of him to refuse her, would it?

"Tomorrow."

Oh.

"So soon."

He thinks it is too soon for her to leave, not after such a significant conversation has happened between them the day before. But that's how these things go, right? After someone significant has happened, an opportunity to reflect arises. That's what happened to him before, and that's what's going to happen to Sasuke soon.

Perhaps she wishes to do the same.

But the again, she has her brother, and he brother wants to speak with her.

Inter-clan politics.

That must be it.

So he asks about her preparations, what she needs to be done, and finds out that she had done everything prior to meeting him.

She must be so sure that he would say yes.

Well, she isn't wrong.

"I wish you a safe journey, samurai-san."

"You have my gratitude, Hokage-sama."

Professional and impersonal, that's how this is supposed to go. It wouldn't be right of him to refuse her after everything, and it wouldn't be proper of her to demand from him something that he could refuse to give. If he had told her that he isn't allowing her to leave, what then? Would she throw a tantrum like a child? Harbor animosity towards him? Would she hate him? Would she plead? Or would she use the cover of night to leave?

He wants to ask if she does want to leave because the look on her face tell him nothing of a desire to.

Perhaps it is because she is bound by duty to do so, and the refusal of her family's summons would be tantamount to treachery.

It would have been nice to know if she did want to.

Perhaps, even nicer to know that she didn't want to..

But both of them remained silent, their words and questions bubbling into their mouths, their lips refusing to open.

It surprised her when he didn't ask how her name should be written, but didn't say anything as she watched him write her name on the permit with slow and careful strokes as if he's recalling it from memory. Her chest warms at the sight, but she refuses to let it known. There is a tenderness in her eyes that she wishes would go unnoticed by him.

How many times has he seen her name? Had he practiced writing it should such a thing happen? Had he even tried saying it?

_Shikaku no Shikai._

He could feel her heavy stare as he pens her name in ink, tries to recall each stroke that had been present on the small towel he has yet to return to her. He feels as if he's scrutinizing him, waiting for him to make a mistake so she could write it herself. He had tested her name before, out of curiosity, on a scrap piece of paper when he was alone. He wondered what her real name could be, and how she came to be named that way.

But he doesn't make a mistake, because she doesn't utter a word.

Or perhaps, she is embarrassed to tell him?

She looks at the permit that he hands her, and smiles the smallest of smiles.

She smiles out of relief.

He stops at the sight of it, utterly shocked that she could have such an expression on her face.

So there is something different about her.

"Shikai-san." He called out as she is about to leave. He has one last thing to tell her. I forgive you."

Her breath catches in her throat, and he wonder if it was wrong to tell her that. It was true, however, after everything she has done, after everything she thinks that has wronged him somehow, he offers her his forgiveness in the hopes that she would accept it, and later on become a better person. He thinks that f she were forgiven for acting the way she had, she would come to the idea that there is something for her, something for them, in this world.

"Goodbye, Hatake-san."

It saddens him how her tone tells him otherwise.

* * *

When he reaches his apartment that night, the first thing he does is look for her towel. Tonight might be his last chance to return it to her, after all, even if she might have already forgotten about it. But how could she forget about it? There were times that he brought it with him when she had invited him over for a tryst, and she as seen it with him, has seen him cleaning himself with it.

But could it be that she refuses to be returned to her after? Of course, it's been stained with cum, and no matter how much or how thoroughly it is washed, the fact still exists that it was used to wipe off cum.

He thinks to throw it away, thinks that she would throw it away, but it would be rude of him to do so. It has her name on it, has the symbol of her home on it. If it would, hypothetically speaking, be found in his trash, rumors would spread like wildfire. If he would burn it, then? No, she might come looking for it eventually. If he would remove the stitches that...

Why was he thinking so much about a towel?

It was just a towel.

A towel with her name and his cum.

As funny as it sounds, he knows that it is better to return it to her. She would know how to dispose of it.

Or throw it back at his face for even considering giving it back to her.

Still, it didn't hurt to try.

Knowing of the two possible outcomes of returning the towel to her, he makes his way to her apartment, avoiding main streets and anyone else who might know him. He wants to make this a clean return, doesn't want questions or suspicions. He has his reputation and she has hers, after all. She made that clear a long time ago.

So he wraps the towel in paper and twin, and makes his way to her apartment.

"Shikai-ojousan is not here at the moment. Who is it?"

He didn't expect an elderly man's voice to answer reply to his knocking. Neither did he expect the use of the honorific 'ojousan' to refer to her.

The door opens, and an elderly man appears armed with a wakizashi.

"Who are you?" The man threatens.

"I am..." He raises his arms up in surrender, "a friend."

"Your name, sir." The man doesn't lower his guard.

He hesitates.

"Hatake Kakashi."

The man blinks before an excited expression comes over his face.

"The war hero?" The man is quick to sheathe the blade. "Oh, I didn't expect ojousan to have made such friends here! I'm sorry for the way I acted. I am Miboshi, one of the Amakuni's servants."

Amakuni? So that must be her family name.

"Come, come in, please!" The man makes way for him to pass through the door.

"Oh, no." He shakes his head. "I'm just..."

He couldn't tell this man that he's going to return this to her, could he?

"I'm just here to give her a farewell present."

It was good thinking that he decided to wrap the towel up.

"Oh! How kind of you, sir! I'm sure ojousan might be on her way back!" Miboshi spoke joyfully. "She would love to receive it herself!"

But Kakashi doesn't think so.

"Oh, I'm in a hurry, actually." He says as an excuse. "Could you give to her?"

"Of course!" Miboshi nods happily.

"And..." He pauses, thinks that this man is a man of his word, "Don't tell her it came from me."

"Oh?" The man questions curiously.

"It's just..." He hesitates, "better if she didn't know who it's from."

"You have my word, sir. I'll tell her it's from a friend."

"Thanks."

He just hopes that Miboshi wouldn't ask her about it.

Still, he would rather have given it to her himself just to see how she would react.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger? Okay, so I have this thing where I "recycle" situations and write them in the other's perspective, and I think I'm having fun. I wrote this is just a day (it took the entire day, though), and I'm not even sure if this chapter is supposed to end where it's supposed to, but the next one is going to be focused on Kakashi, since, upon rereading, I haven't really touched on his character? Yeah. Okay.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated.
> 
> Thanks for the hits, comments, kudos, and bookmarks, guys. Really.
> 
> (and if you haven't noticed, this is cross-posted in FF.net)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be working on the revisions, but I’ll save that for New Year’s. Happy Holidays, everyone.

****He knows he can do without her. He knows that she could do, and would probably do better, without him. They weren’t in any sort of relationship that asked for equal investment. She wanted to fuck, he wanted to fuck, and nothing happened after that.

But he wanted to talk. He wanted to understand. He wanted to see if anything beneficial could come out of a relationship like that, as if it was a novel where the main couple has a rough start, and then come to an understanding of each other, and eventually fall in love, accompanied by titillating sex scenes and erotic clichés.

It might have been immature of him to think that, delusional even.

Life is nothing like those novels.

Which is why he doesn’t wake up with a longing for another body beside him, doesn’t imagine someone else is taking a shower while he brushes his teeth, doesn’t eat breakfast thinking about saving some for a non-existent partner, doesn’t wait for a kiss on his cheek and the phrase “Come back soon!” to echo in his head.

Still, at the end of the day, he says, “I’m home.”

Even if he doesn’t expect a “Welcome back.”

_“Welcome back, Kakashi.”_

But his father, Rin, Minato, and Obito are still there to welcome him.

His daily routine went like that.

* * *

Sometimes he talks to Tenzou.

But he doesn’t talk to him about her or the affair. It feels too sudden and out of place, uncalled for and awkward. Tenzou isn’t a talky person, much like him, and striking a conversation about that would merit suspicion. He hasn’t shown that kind of interest in anyone before and the implications are disastrous. Tenzou might be considered one of his closest friends and most trusted confidants, but really?

He isn’t sure if Tenzou has any semblance of romantic interest towards her, but it is always possible.

And if Tenzou did have feelings for her, what then?

He doesn’t want to think about the scenarios because he won’t ask. 

Not yet.

But he hasn’t talked to him in a while, and this is the only free time he has in his busy day of avoiding responsibility, so...

“Senpai.” Tenzou hissed.

Of course, Tenzou noticed him hiding in the trees before he could even jump down.

“Yo, Tenzou.”

That, or he wasn’t even trying.

“Have you had lunch yet?”

They were both in the ANBU, after all.

“Depends.” His kouhai shrugged before glaring at him, “Will I pay for it again?”

“My treat.” He says. “Promise.”

Tenzou narrowed his eyes at him. “That’s new.”

His senpai might be someone who avoids the responsibility of taking care of the bill most of the time, but when he makes a promise, it’s almost guaranteed to be fulfilled.

On the way to the restaurant, Tenzou wonders what brought Kakashi to do this. Does he feel that he wronged him somehow? Or does he just feel like it? It’s spontaneous and unexpected, yes, but something he wouldn’t put past Kakashi. Maybe he’s going through a crisis or something and needs someone to talk to? Or does he feel like he owes Tenzou this much, at least, after all the times he’s made him pay for his food?

It might be the latter, since the restaurant Kakashi brings him to looks expensive and familiar.

“This is...quite an expensive place.” He says as they stand in front of the ornate doorway.

“But the food is good.” Kakashi replies casually.

And Tenzou suddenly remembers why it’s so familiar.

* * *

_Months before, this restaurant opened and caused quite a commotion amongst the villagers and shinobi living around it. The war had just ended and not everyone had finished mourning the losses caused by the war, and the owner of this upscale and expensive-looking diner had thought it the perfect time to open shop? They must be mad._

_“Are you sure about this, Shikai-san?” He stands nervously. “This place looks expensive.”_

_Little did he know that money was no concern to the woman beside him, who simply shrugged and replied, “But the food is good.”_

_And it’s true._

_She orders a fourteen-course kaiseki, a set of small dishes meticulously prepared by the restaurant chef. They were served sashimi, pickled vegetables, a light soup, a savory rice dish, grilled fish, braised chicken, a heavy pork-broth soup, among several side dishes._

_Upon serving of the ninth course, he dares to ask:_

_“What brought this on, Shikai-san?” He asked cautiously, breaking the comfortable atmosphere between them, “It’s not that I’m ungrateful, I really am. The food is as good as you say, but...”_

_She has eaten here before. She might have even ordered a course meal before, but why? Is she that wealthy?_

_“Are you sleeping with anyone, Yamato-san?”_

* * *

That’s enough reason to hesitate, he thinks.

“No, it’s just–” He starts, an embarrassed tint of red color his cheeks.

“This was where she...” He stumbles over his words. “The woman...”

“Ah.” Kakashi mouths. “That makes enough sense.”

“What?”

“It’s an expensive place. You don’t treat someone to a meal here just because.”

Tenzou knows that all too well.

Actually, both of them do.

“And this is...?” He wonders aloud.

“Nothing. I just wanted some company, that’s all.”

Kakashi knows that he needs to talk to someone about the affair, but doesn’t think that he should tell Tenzou. For all he knows, Shikai might actually still hold feelings for his kouhai.

There is always that possibility.

But for now, they enjoy the food.

* * *

Sometimes he has a challenge with Gai.

The next day, Kakashi visits him in the hospital. He knows that Gai is recovering, both physically and mentally, having accepted his fate some week ago. It was utterly heartbreaking, but Gai was never one to wallow in his sorrows for too long. When he enters Gai’s hospital room, the man lying on the bed greets him with a loud and joyous,

“Well, if it isn’t my greatest rival!”

And Gai’s cheerful tone makes him smile under the mask. 

“Morning to you too, Gai.”

“Have you come here to settle the score once and for all?”

Despite Gai’s energy, there’s a bit of a tremor in his voice.

“No, I–” He tries to calm him down, but Gai’s energy is steadily flowing out of him now.

“Despite my condition, I will still give it my all!” He rattles in his bed.

“Gai, please.” He raises his hands to signal to Gai to lie back down.

But Gai’s wide smile and piercing eyes show that he has no intention to do so.

“Alright.” Kakashi sighs. “Just one match.”

And Gai responds with a thumbs up.

Thumb wrestling, it is then. A simple game that doesn’t require that much effort for both of them. And yet...

With his thumb pinned under Gai’s, he expects Gai to declare his win in a loud, bellowing voice, but instead Gai suddenly turns quiet.

“You made me win on purpose.”

How unexpected.

Kakashi is too surprised at Gai’s silence to answer immediately, but after a beat he says, “That’s quite perceptive of you, but no, I...”

“I understand.” Gai turns to him, “We’re both handicapped, in our own way.”

What happened to him?

He casually suggests, “Would a rematch–”

“No! I would never!” And Gai is back to his usual theatrics, loud and dramatic. “Knowing that you’ve already placed a handicap on yourself, I cannot!”

Kakashi starts to explain, “I don’t have the Sharingan anymore, and you can’t...”

He cuts himself off before the words come out of his mouth. Gai’s eyes begin to water, but the smile never leaves his face.

“I’m sorry, Gai.”

And Gai’s response is a hearty laugh whilst some tear slip from his eyes.

“You always worry too much, Kakashi.” He reassures him by clapping a warm hand on his shoulder. “The flowers of youth still bloom in my heart! And they still bloom in yours as well, my friend. But it is time for this blossom to bear fruit!”

What–

“You don’t mean...”

“Marriage, my dear rival!” Gai exclaims. “A challenge neither of us had anticipated!”

“I don’t really think...” He stops once the thought registers in his mind. “You’re getting married?”

That would explain the extravagant flower arrangement beside Gai’s bed.

* * *

Sometimes he eats dinner with Iruka, Naruto, and Sakura.

He gives himself a few days to let the fact that Gai is engaged sink in. Of all people, he never expected Gai to be the one to tie the knot. He doesn’t know of any women in Gai’s life, perhaps Tenten introduced him to someone? Maybe he met someone during the war? But it was unlikely that Gai would be swayed by feminine charm, or was his “good guy” persona something that women went mad for? After all, Gai did have this thing about him that was too endearing and too innocent.

Would the woman be someone a bit more... dominant, then?

He brings this up over ramen with his former students and one of his dearest colleagues.

Of course, they don’t believe him.

“Gai-sensei is getting married?”

Naruto even stops slurping from his bowl.

“I can’t believe it! You’ve got to be kidding, Kakashi-sensei!”

He shakes his head. “I’m not.”

“He’s seriously getting married?” Iruka laughed, half-surprised, and half-amused. “Before you? Before anyone else?”

Naruto squints his eyes. “Who in the world would–”

“I think I’ve got an idea, but...” Sakura trailed off. 

She has seen a beautiful woman carrying flowers to Gai’s hospital room every other day, but... It couldn’t possibly? But the woman was too... What was the word? Too beautiful? Too regal? Too much? She looked as if she was lifted from those fairy tale fantasies about shapeshifting princesses and mythical dragons, but...

Could she possibly be the one?

“Is that going to be the end of Konoha’s Green Beast, then?” Iruka wonders aloud. “After everything, he’s going to be a family man?”

Kakashi doesn’t think so. “I doubt that.”

“Who is this woman, Sakura?” Naruto whines. “She must be out of her mind!”

“Come on, Naruto, it’s not like Gai-sensei’s totally repulsive.” She defends, “You, on the other hand...”

“What are you talking about?” He scoffs. “I’m a war hero! Girls love heroes!”

Sakura’s fist meets the back of his head.

“Don’t get so cocky!”

“Hey, I was just kidding!”

At that moment, Kakashi feels as if he’s back in the past where everything is lighter, easier somehow.

“They haven’t changed, have they, Kakashi?” Iruka comments nostalgically.

He nods. “Yeah.”

“What are you going to do now? You’re nearly five months in, and you still haven’t taken the oath.”

He shrugs. “Maybe I’m not ready yet.”

“Not ready? You’ve already been doing what needs to be done.” 

Yes. He has.

Iruka says in a hushed tone, “Don’t tell me you’re having a crisis now?”

“No, I...”

It’s not that, but...

“I just need time.”

He’s still young, he still has time. There isn’t really a pressure on him to take the position of being the Rokudaime Hokage, nor is there any pressure on him to take on a wife, have kids and all that, right?

“Okay.” Iruka relents. “But the world isn’t going to wait, Kakashi.”

He knows that.

“There’s no one else for the position but you.”

* * *

Sometimes, he goes to her.

But he doesn’t tonight, nor has he done so for the past two weeks. 

He’s back to his daily routine, his normal life before her. It’s not that big of a change, if he were honest. Her disappearance hasn’t affected him as much as he thought he would have. Sure, there might have been an inkling of a possible relationship between them, but she is who she is and he is who he is.

They’re two broken people who had thought it was the right thing to do at that time.

But sometimes though, when he’s lying awake beside her, he thinks of burying his face in the crook of her neck, wrap his arms around her, and breathe. And she would lean into him, press her hands against his, and cry.

Cry?

If she were like the heroine of one of the Icha Icha novels, she would. She would cry because she feels that she’s betrayed herself, allowed her true feelings to be known, allowed herself to become vulnerable around the novel’s protagonist.

But she isn’t.

So the closest he has ever gotte to her after sex was a three-inch gap between their bodies on a particularly cold and rainy night.

* * *

_The rain pelted down against the roof. There was an open window, and the rain had begun entering the room through there, hitting against the wood floor. He was still awake, his head facing the ceiling, and she had supposedly been asleep, turned to her side and faced away from him, a heavy blanket covering her body._

_He breathes heavily._

_“Shikai-san.”_

_Nothing. The rain continued pelting down from the night sky._

_“Shikai-san.” He repeats a bit louder this time, turning his head to face her._

_A gust of cold wind enters through the window. He shivers._

_“Shikai-san.”_

_Still nothing. She must be sound asleep, seeing she has wrapped as the entirety of the blanket around herself. It wouldn’t harm her to share, would it? But it would be rude of him if he were to curl in with her. They haven’t gone that far, have they? Sharing a bed isn’t the same as sharing a blanket now, was it?_

_So instead of doing as the novels would have done, he stands up to close the window himself._

_“Don’t.” He hears her from behind him._

_He turns to her slowly and sees that she has lifted her torso from her bed, eyes heavy-lidded, and hair still damp from the shower. She isn’t scowling, but she isn’t smiling either, but he feels that her neutral expression just makes this worse._

_“The heat is going to be unbearable in the morning.” She simply says._

_He doesn’t know why she doesn’t have a fan in her room, supposes it’s because she’s old-fashioned or that she doesn’t like the sound of the fan blades whirring. She has enough money to buy one, anyway._

_“It’s cold.”_

_“Sorry.”_

_She lowers her gazes and shifts in the bed, freeing the thick blanket from under her._

_“Here.”_

_When she removes the rest of the blanket from her body, she is quick to be up on her feet._

_“I have a few more blankets, anyway.” She says._

_He doesn’t respond to this act of kindness immediately as he is too dumfounded that she has actually showed concern._

_When she shuffles through her drawers, he says:_

_“Please don’t trouble yourself, Shikai-san.”_

_And she stops moving to turn to him, gazing suspiciously._

_“It’s...” He pauses. “We could share.”_

_He thinks it’s a stupid idea. Of course, she would rather give him the thickest blanket she has and endure through the cold weather than actually share with him, right?_

_But what she says floors him completely, “If that’s fine with you.”_

_She gets back to the bed first, fixes the blanket so that there’s enough for both of them before she settles in. He stands beside the bed for a while, and thinks of how he should go about his. The blanket is big enough for both of them, yes, and it’s thick enough to cover each of them from the cold wind, but the situation is just..._

_Instead of wallowing in his thoughts and Icha Icha-esque fantasies, he slips under the thick blanket._

_It’s warm._

_And he sinks into it almost automatically. He is quick to become comfortable, curling his toes against the mattress and breathing relaxedly._

_Perhaps a little too relaxedly, because his arm bumps against her back._

_She stiffens._

_His breath hitches._

_Silence._

_How awkward._

_He doesn’t mean it, but he can’t be sure that she knows that._

_“Sorry.” He blurts out, quick to bring distance between them._

_“It’s fine.” She says without facing him._

_She clutches the blanket closer to her. “Just...” She trails off._

_Just what?_

_He wonders for a moment, if that was permission to actually hold her, but she doesn’t say anything after that, and he doesn’t ask. Still, his arm tingles at the contact with her unexpectedly warm back._

_He falls asleep beside her, leaving only a three-inch gap between their bodies._

* * *

But this is the first time he’s talked to Asayake Tenkou about...

Well, it.

It’s unexpected, to say the least, that she would be the one to know about it. He doesn’t put it past her, however, as he’s heard of her excellent stealth skills during the war, using animals as an unlikely means of communication and espionage far better than most shinobi. Hell, she might have even used the birds perched on the tree outside Shikai’s apartment to have a detailed account of whatever it is they’re doing.

But why?

“Hey, is this seat taken?”

Lunchtime in this eatery was always crowded and people were often forced to order their food to-go. But despite that fact, this young woman had the courage to ask him that, having a large selection of food on her tray, surely too much for someone like her.

But he isn’t one to be rude, so he tells her, “No.”

“Thanks.” She takes the seat across him almost immediately, placing the tray between them. “I heard the food here is really good. What do you recommend?”

She strikes up the conversation first.

But he points out, “You already ordered–”

“Yeah, I know.” She cuts him off with a sheepish chuckle. “It’s a lot for one person, want to share?”

She’s quick to be on friendly terms with him.

He already ate, but for some reason the sight of all that food made his mouth water.

“If you insist.”

“Sorry.” She says before she digs her chopsticks into a bowl of rice, “It’s just that I usually have lunch with a friend here, but...”

She takes a bite out of grilled chicken, takes a mouthful of rice, and sips from the bowl of soup before picking at the vegetables. She must be really hungry.

“You know her, right?” She says in-between bites. “Shikai?”

He stops and considers standing up and walking straight out.

But he doesn’t.

“I do.” He answered cautiously.

She hums in thought before voicing out, “It’s been more than two weeks and I haven’t heard from her.”

“Right.” He punctuates. His suspicions might be right.

“Do you know where she went?” She asked, a strange expression on her face, almost a knowing one, “You know, with you being Hokage and all.”

“She went home.” He gives it to her straight. “Didn’t she tell you?”

“Back to Yūkō?” Her surprise is mechanical, and it confirms his suspicions. “No. I’m surprised she told you, and not me.” 

He knows that’s a lie.

But Tenkou still keeps up the act., even shrugging and telling him, “It’s strange, knowing that we’re friends and all.”

“Is this conversation supposed to lead somewhere?”

Her innocent expression changes and he knows that he’s caught her.

She sighs, and picks at her food again, takes a few mouthfuls before stating, “I just want to clarify something, Kakashi-san.”

He leans back. “By all means.”

“I can understand that she was the one who started the entire affair and why she chose you, but what I don’t understand is why you would agree to it.” She explains before eying him up and down, “You don’t look like the type to.”

Whether it was an insult or a compliment, he doesn’t really care.

“A man has his needs, after all.”

“That’s one way to put it,” She nods in agreement, “but you still don’t look like someone who’ll fuck around with someone like her.”

Fuck around with her? Isn’t it the other way around, though?

“And you know this why?”

He doesn’t think this is the best place to have this kind of conversation, but no one seems to notice them.

“The reason she acted the way she did is bullshit.” The young woman says with all seriousness. “Forgivable, but bullshit.”

That’s harsh, but true.

If Shikai’s reason for sleeping with him was what he thought–because she seeks to find someone like her, it’s a stupid reason, but not an unforgivable one. She could learn. She could move on.

“Is that so?”

He wonders why her so-called friend is acting like this, though. How could she say that to him? Why had she said that to him? Does she think that she has a say in her friend’s sex life? Or maybe she’s genuinely concerned for her? 

“Shikai is looking for something, Kakashi-san.” She says clearly.

And he knows that.

“And I wonder if you’re looking for the same thing, too.”

Tenkou finishes the rest of her meal in silence. Silence which lets him ponder on that thought. Shikai has told him that she knows that they’re looking for the same thing, that they’re both looking for someone like them to empathize with.

But he didn’t believe her.

He pitied her.

“She’s a person under all that armor.” Tenkou says. “A shitty person, but still a person.” 

She’s honest and straightforward. Shikai must be thankful for having a friend like her.

“And the last time I saw her, she was smiling like she never did. So I guess that deserves a thank-you.” She smiles.

“Thanks...” Tenkou bows her head slightly, “for fucking my friend.”

A little bit too honest, he thinks.

“So it’s out.”

He doesn’t know what to do with that information, but he doesn’t suppose that Tenkou would go around and tell this to everyone she knows. Shikai’s her friend, after all, and she wouldn’t be the type of person to do that to their friend, right?

* * *

Later that day, Tenkou opens the door to Shikai’s apartment, only to meet a frowning Haru sitting on the sofa.

“She’ll be furious once she knows.” Haru says.

“Will she? I mean...” Tenkou scoffs. “I bet she’ll be too embarrassed to even say anything.”

In truth, Haru was the first one to know, having seen a man emerge from Shikai’s apartment one early morning, but Tenkou was the first one to know who that mystery man was. Haru thought to fish it out of Shikai when she invited her for drinks before she left, but the samurai had remained closed off about her sexual affairs.

Haru sighed. “Why did you have to do that?”

“I had to clarify something.” Tenkou defended.

“Shikai likes to fuck around, but not like this.” She explains. “Not with people like him. Not when she knows that the risk is greater than the reward.”

The question that has plagued Tenkou’s mind ever since she found out was: What could Shikai gain from fucking the future Hokage?

“Maybe it’s love.” Haru says dreamily.

“Bullshit.” Tenkou makes a disgusted face. “She has to forgive herself first.”

To the best of her knowledge, Shikai is still in mourning, still unable to forgive herself for seemingly allowing the death of the man she claimed to love. A man who just can’t reciprocate her feelings because, for one, he isn’t human, no matter how hard Shikai imagines him to be.

“And don’t you think she already has?”

Haru believes that Shikai has almost completely come into terms with his death, because if she hasn’t, she wouldn’t be with them now, she wouldn’t be able to continue living the same way she has, she just wouldn’t.

If Shikai still hasn’t forgiven herself, her coming home to Yūkō might be the key in making sure that she does.

It’s about time, after all.

* * *

A few days later, Kakashi receives a letter addressed to him as the Rokudaime Hokage.

It’s an invitation to a gathering, a summit about the future of the relationship between shinobi and samurai.

Interestingly enough, it’s going to be held in the village of Yūkō no Sato a month from now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Done. Happy holidays, everyone. I hope this chapter isn’t too much of a downer. And if there are fans of Blue Exorcist, why not check out Cactus Flower? Anyway, feedback is always appreciated. Thanks for reading.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revisions will hopefully be up by this month. I just wanted to throw everything I have so far out there and then make sense of it all before I write the next chapter after this.
> 
> A few changes: the long "u" (ū) and "o" (ō) have been changed to the "uu", "ou", and "oo" forms. The previous forms had been just a stylistic choice. As such, the previous chapters will also be revised with these changes and more.
> 
> This chapter (actually this entire story) is actually more of a self-indulgent writing practice than anything that forwards the story to a significant point. I'm sure most of you by now have caught up with how I'm writing this story. This might be the slowest of all slow burns, if I knew how to write one properly. This is honestly more of an exploration in writing for me. Thanks! Happy (belated) New Year, everyone!

Yuukou no Sato is exactly the same.

And perhaps that is Yuukou's best quality. Through all the wars and the conflicts, Yuukou's walls have endured, and its people have just found new ways to become stronger be it through forming platonic friendships since childhood, mutually beneficial marriages, or even through forging alliances at times of need. It's a village of people who know the value of creating and maintaining relationships in times of war and conflict.

But now that the war, and supposedly every possible cause of conflict, is over, what of these relationships?

"I say we reinstate our alliance with Suna."

Matsudaira Genji is the oldest member of the council, besides Yuukou's leader, his cousin, Monogashira Hideki. His silver hair and trimmed beard befit the face of a man who has survived through three wars. He's traditional, if not archaic, and is one of Hideki's most trusted.

"But wouldn't that be unfair given what has happened in the war?"

In contrast to the traditional perspective of Genji is the Sengo family head, Okisato. Being relatively younger than him, having gone through only two of the wars, he has worked with the shinobi extensively and is more aware of the current state of the continent than most samurai. The diagonal scar cutting across his face is proof of that.

"But we've been allies with Suna for the longest time. Doesn't that mean anything?"

Kusakabe Ryutaro is the newest member of the council, taking the position from his late father, Hitomaro. In any case, his beliefs are no different from his father's–being that in contrast to the obvious disagreement between Genji and Okisato, he is the neutral party, the questioning party, unsure about where he does stand in things like these.

"If it were still the Third Great War." Okisato scoffed.

"Times have changed–times are changing." Genji spoke. "I think we're better off being like Tetsu no Kuni."

"But we don't have enough power to do that." Ryutaro answered.

Monogashira Hideki merely looked on at the scene, amused at how the three interacted with one another. He is Yuukou no Sato's leader, curious and eccentric just like how the legendary Ashikaga Naitou, one of the very few people who had fought with a Bijuu and survived, was said to be.

"Then why not do both? Why not allow ourselves the neutrality by allying ourselves with all the shinobi?"

_Ah._

Hideki's smile turned into a full-blown grin, his teeth peering out of his lips.

Amakuni Kanemitsu has finally spoken.

He is the youngest member of the council and the most radical among them. Though he rarely speaks, when he does, it is something that both amuses and terrifies Hideki.

"That just doesn't make sense." Genji shot him down.

"Right." Okisato nodded. "We can't guarantee that there won't be another war."

Oh. They actually agreed on it?

Hideki's grin grew into a silent chuckle.

Ryutaro was silent, but the look on his face was telling of how he's writing out every possibility that could come off of such a thing.

"Then that's what we'll do." Kanemitsu continued. "Safeguard the peace."

"How do you think we could possibly do that?" Ryutaro finally spoke, albeit stumbling a little on his words.

"Easy. The first step is calling a summit, a meeting of sorts, with the Five Nations."

Kanemitsu sounded so sure.

_Silence._

But Hideki's laughter breaks the silence as he says, "That's a very dangerous proposal. I like it."

"Of course." Kanemitsu beamed. "And we can tour them around town. Show them what our life is really like. Show them what being a samurai is all about."

It's everything Hideki wanted to hear.

"I like that idea even better."

* * *

Shikai comes home at a bad time.

Or perhaps it is the best time, with Yuukou's streets bursting with uncharacteristic energy, people from all and everywhere– merchants, samurai, and shinobi alike–filling the streets with friendly chatter and idyllic noise. It's quite reminiscent of Konoha's streets, and she frowns slightly at the thought of it.

But the Amakuni compound is quiet. Just as she had remembered it.

There is comfort in that, at least.

"Father." She greets between stiff lips, bows deeply before the two people standing before her.

Amakuni Sadamune and Amakuni Sumire are dressed in their formal wear; a light blue kimono adorned with golden embroidery of koi fish swimming amongst clouds, and the white haori with the family crest, the crescent moon.

"You've returned." Sadamune spoke, relieved at the sight of his daughter.

"For good, I hope." Sumire added, a haughty tone in her voice.

Shikai rose to meet her mother's eyes, silently pleading for a semblance of mercy from her cold stare.

"Mother, I..."

Sumire sighed.

"Oneesan!"

That broke the silence.

"Oneesan, you're back!" Kanemitsu burst through the door behind her parents, "You're back!"

He rushed past them and embraced her tightly, pressing his face into her shoulder.

"I missed you!"

He is older now, taller, leaner. Her younger brother had grown into a young man. She can't remember when she had been embraced like this, out of relief, out of love.

"I missed you too, Kanemitsu." She murmured into his hair, winding her arms around him like she would years and years before.

"That is unbecoming of a clan head, Kanemitsu-sama!" She hears Miboshi say from behind her.

But Kanemitsu's hold on her tightened, but he immediately let go upon their mother's loud, bellowing voice:

"Behave, Kanemitsu!"

And a sharp slap of her fan to the back of his head.

He recoiled immediately, complaining how unnecessary that was for Sumire to strike the back of his head.

"Your sister is a hero." Their father said.

"Really?" Kanemitsu turned to her, a bright expression on his face as he tried to figure out what to say next, "What happened? That's great!"

Sadamune continued, "She single-handedly defeated an enemy unit in the war."

"It wasn't anything worth noticing." She replied, suddenly humbled by the praise.

"I'm sure it wasn't." Sumire retorted. "Several people have done the same."

Shikai meets her mother's scowling face.

It's true.

"Mother." She pleaded.

Sadamune could sense the tension, and quickly says, "What she means is, she's proud of you, dear daughter."

Sumire sighed, but nodded all the same.

"If you had only come home sooner so we can discuss the dowry." She explained. "God knows they're sending too much already."

"Dowry?" Shikai echoed, not knowing what it could mean.

"Your brother is getting married."

She blinks once. Twice.

"Oneesan!" Kanemitsu stood in front of her, hands on her arms as if to shake her.

"Congratulations." She spoke quietly.

* * *

When she is settled back into her quarters, she didn't expect it to feel alien and strange to her. Everything is just as she left it. There is no layer of dust waiting for her, but there is an empty closet and a vacant bed ready to be occupied by her and all her things. On a shelf still sits her collection of books from her childhood, the tales of adventure and bravery her younger self had thought to seek out in the world.

She looks at the spine of these books and frowns.

She had sought so much of the world, only to be disappointed in the end.

Her return is inevitable, but she considers whether to unpack all her things as if it meant that she is staying here.

So her things remain in boxes and bags. She doesn't unpack all of them, but leaves them open in case she does.

Later, she has lunch with her family for the first time in years. There is no feast waiting for her, but they don't hold back on the food, either. Expensive fish grilled to a golden shade, pickled vegetables, fried rice, roasted duck, hearty soup, it's as if their wealth had been unaffected by everything else.

But then there is the chatter among her relatives that make her feel out of place in this family. They ask about where she had come from, where she went, what she had been doing, expressing the curiosity of one who had just met a stranger for the first time, the eagerness of a child who had met a skillful adult.

It only makes sense, she thinks to herself, she had been gone too long from this family that she might as well be considered a stranger.

After, when everyone else had left to go about their daily lives, she is left sitting at the table with her mother sipping gingerly at her cup of tea.

The silence is suffocating.

"I just didn't expect him to marry so soon." She blurts out suddenly, the words hiding behind her lips for the past few hours spilling out of her mouth.

Sumire lays down the cup and comments sharply, "Before you, you mean."

_Yes?_

"Mother." She groans.

At thirty-four years old, one would expect her to be married, but–

"I understand how you feel," Her mother continued, "but he seems decided on the girl. A merchant's daughter who came with her father a few years ago."

She feels insulted.

"And I wasn't told this?"

But Sumire cuts her with a glare, "You weren't particularly easy to contact."

"I'm sorry." She looks down. "It's just... The job I had..."

She couldn't tell her mother that she had loose ties to a criminal organization, could she? Informant she may be, she still had something to do with what happened one way or another. Her mother might not forgive her if she knew, and she wouldn't dare risk it.

After all, she's done good enough to atone for her sins, hasn't she?

"But it's over now, isn't it?" Sumire asked, a slightly hopeful tone in her voice.

"Yes." She nodded.

There is that silence again as her mother drinks another cup of tea.

Shikai wants to leave, but doesn't know where to go after, so she stays still and waits for something to happen.

"Miboshi tells me you've opened a sword school for shinobi." Sumire is the one that instigates the conversation this time.

"I have."

"And it's currently being handled by one of your best students?"

The way she asks feels a bit like an interrogation, and Shikai can't help but feel pressured to answer.

"Yes."

And Sumire's scowl is replaced by a pleasant grin.

"Wonderful." She turns to her daughter, "You've expanded the business already."

Her mother had been Shikai's first teacher in the art of swordsmanship, and was the first person Shikai had looked up to as a child.

"Thank you." She bows, feeling herself grow warm from her mother's words.

_Home._

* * *

"You're really getting married."

When she says so to her brother, she is breathless. It's not that she's still in disbelief, but it's because she doesn't know what else to say, how to feel. Of course, she feels relieved to a certain extent, but she's truly happy for him.

"Not yet!" Kanemitsu shakes his hands in front of her. "I want to receive your blessing first."

Even at the age of twenty-five, he is still the same as she had remembered; childlike and honest.

"You could have just said so in a letter."

He pouts. "And what good would words do?"

And the only response she has for him is:

"I give you my blessing, Kanemitsu."

In the plainest and most respectful tone she could muster.

"Not now!"

But Kanemitsu makes a sound of disgust at her statement.

"Touka and I will receive your blessing together." He said determinedly.

She thinks it's a pretty name. "Is that her name?"

"Hanano Touka." He replies dreamily. "Pretty, isn't it?"

_It is._

She smiles. "She must be quite beautiful, then."

Kanemitsu nods vigorously and she's sure that he's in love, as if she knew what being in love really felt like.

"How lucky it is that you've found the one." She says.

* * *

She had thought that she found "the one" long ago, in the man whose heart had been encased in a cylinder, whose body had been replaced by wood and steel. But she was younger then, still too caught up in the world of fantasy and adventure, in dreams where there is a fountain that could bring the dead back to life and where swords could cut through the waters of the sea.

She was young and in love with the worst possible candidate.

And she dreams of him still.

And in her dreams he is the same as ever, a cold and callous exterior with a biting remarks and a sharp tongue; red hair still so vibrant and brown eyes with an innocence that betrayed his rudeness.

_"_ _You were ambitious. Impulsive. Stubborn." He narrated, "No different from a spoiled brat."_

_In this dream, they are before a river; him on one side and her on the other._

_"_ _Like you were any different." She huffed. "I played with swords. You played with dolls."_

_"_ _Puppets." He corrects her, tone biting._

_"_ _What difference does that make?" She is infuriated. "They break so easily all the same."_

_He is unfazed by this as always._

_"_ _And you?"_

_Her eyes narrow._

_"_ _And me?"_

_"_ _Don't you break too easily, too?" He laughs. "Still prone to outbursts and recklessness, unnecessary demands and childish selfishness."_

_His words struck her deeply._

_"_ _You're looking for me." He stands up and spits out, "Looking for me in the men you fuck."_

_He is disgusted._

_"_ _You don't know that." She retorted._

_He walks towards her now, past the shore and into the river._

_She continues, shaking her head in disbelief, "You couldn't know that."_

_"_ _But I do."_

_The water was already past his waist._

_"_ _It's pathetic."_

_His words cut deep._

_"_ _It is." She muttered under her breath._

_He adds, "Disgusting."_

_He stops in the middle of the river where the water is level with his chest now._

_She bows her head, "I know."_

_She stands to reach out to him, walks until the water brushes her toes._

_"_ _You should just stop." He commands._

_And he is almost within arm's reach, the water having reacher his neck. If she could only–_

_"_ _You would never find me in them, anyway."_

_He smirks._

_He disappears under the water._

And she wakes.

There is no cold sweat, no tear-stained cheeks, nor even a wet bed.

It is just another day.

* * *

And today she shows her father the proof of the legend, the glimmering blade lifted from her favorite childhood storybook.

"Murai."

Before, it would plummet from the sky in a searing flash of light, bright and blinding. It is a weightless sword, just like the legend said it was, and it is an unbreakable sword, just as the rumors said it would be.

It fits into the palm of her hand well, as if she were born for it, as if it was made just for her.

Sadamune admires the blade with a careful eye, concluding, "It's beautiful."

"It's just as the myth said, father." She digs the blade into the ground, where it cuts the earth easily. "The island southeast of Umi no Kuni, beyond the mountain and deep within the grove–"

"Where the slumbering dragon awaits the fortuitous warrior." He finished for her, saying that as if from memory.

"I take it this dragon was the exaggerated part of the myth?"

She meets her father's warm smile with one of her own. The expression feels unfamiliar to her face.

"Unfortunately."

He clears his throat. "In any case, you've done something for yourself and it's something worth celebrating."

"It is?"

"Of course."

He embraces her tightly.

"It might have been thirteen years too late, but you deserve to have the Amakuni name."

Too many years have gone by, she knows, too many years living under the moniker she has grown used to.

"I–" She stuttered, suddenly warm at the action, "Thank you, father."

* * *

And they arrange a feast for her, invited the various houses of Takamura no Kuni, served platters and platters of fine cuisine, opened rare and expensive bottles of wine, wore robes of the finest silk, and all the fanfare one would expect from a such a grand event.

But here she is, the guest of honor, away from all the noise and commotion, sitting in a far side of the grand manor with nothing but a bottle for company. The moon's reflection shines in the pond in front of her, and the lively chatter echoes far away.

How childish of her to hide away when she knows they're looking for her.

It's not that she detests these kinds of things, no. But everything is different now, she had been given a new name–no, she had been given her true name, her actual name, and she wonders what could happen next for her. With this new name, she is a new person. The burden of her past and the sins that she has committed have been forgiven. She is no longer the ruthless, blindly obedient soldier, but she is the Amakuni daughter, the samurai who had come into the possession of Murai.

Now, she is someone great, someone memorable.

Just as she had wanted all this time.

But why is it that she feels something lacking?

Is it because she still cannot forgive herself for something that she didn't commit?

_"_ _And with your new name, come a new identity. You are no longer bound by the chains of your past, nor are you caged by the sins you have committed. You have been born anew, Amakuni Shikai."_

She takes another swig from the bottle.

She has already been forgiven, so why...

"You're sitting alone in the dark?"

She turns to the voice behind her.

It's Kanemitsu.

She feels her cheeks flush from embarrassment. Of all people to send, they decide to have the one person whom she doesn't want to witness her state.

"I'm tired is all." She murmurs past wet lips.

She turns away and hear his footsteps coming closer.

"Okisato's looking for you. Says he wants to test your mettle. See if there's any difference from when you were seventeen years ago."

She snorts. "Of course there is."

He chuckles before sitting beside her on the veranda's edge.

He eyes the bottle sitting between her legs. "You've drunk too much, I think."

She takes another swig, unapologetic.

"But not enough these past few years." She said breathlessly.

Silence. They stare into the moon's reflection together.

"You aren't telling me something." He says after a beat.

He's still staring off into the pond, but there's a knowing look on his face.

She cannot lie to him.

"Can I have some time to myself?" She admits quietly.

And when Kanemistu doesn't answer, she adds, "Just for a little while. Please."

Kanemitsu looks at her; she has her head presses against her knees, curling herself as if she wants to hide away from him, from the world. He wants to ask her what's wrong, to shake her from delusional thoughts and get to know her, his dear sister, again.

But she doesn't seem like she's unfurl any way he tries, so he obeys.

"I understand." He says as he stands to his feet. "I'll tell him you'll spar with him tomorrow."

She nods mutely.

And when he's about to walk away, she raises her head to say, "Thank you, Kanemitsu."

Her cheeks are flushed from the wine.

She's been crying.

He says as a goodbye, "I'll bring more wine if you like."

She falls asleep leaning against the pillar, Kanemitsu's promised bottle nearly empty and pressed between her legs, a hand clutched loosely at its neck.

She really hasn't been drinking enough this year.

* * *

And there's a reason why she hasn't.

She has dreams.

And tonight, she dreams of him again.

This time, they're sitting beside each other on a hillside overlooking an orchard.

_"_ _Amakuni Shikai." He tests her name on his tongue._

_"_ _It sounds different, doesn't it?" She comments. "Like it isn't my own name."_

_She hasn't tried saying it herself._

_He snorts. "As if you've been reborn."_

_She dares ask, "If I had been a puppet, what would my name be?"_

_His answer is automatic._

_"_ _Hyakurai."_

_Pale lightning._

_"_ _How poetic." She mused._

_He huffs. "It would suit you just fine."_

_Name her after the instance of Murai, after the glimmering blade itself. Or perhaps after the electric sting of her very own Yamenokayama, or the thunderous whistle of Kunishige? Yes. She would be named after her weapons. After all, she has no worth to him otherwise._

_Right._

_Right?_

_She frowns, uttering, "If only I could call forth lightning as the name suggests."_

_She feels the pang of jealously within her. Does he really not think of her as she does of him?_

_"_ _Why didn't you turn me into one sooner?"_

_It was a question she never dared ask, yet it hangs quietly between them._

_He scoffs at the silence._

_"_ _You would be so ready to give your life to me." He said disdainfully._

_He didn't believe that she would._

_And she really wouldn't, no matter how she claims it so._

_No matter how she claims to love him, she wouldn't dare sacrifice herself. No matter how she claims to be willingly able to give her life for him, she wouldn't really._

_She had only been a naive woman, quick to think that any semblance of concern is equated to love._

_He didn't want her to die, primarily because she quite like him. He didn't want her to become one of his primarily because he wanted someone to talk to. Someone who understood. Someone who is just like him, a living human weapon, unbound by the limitations of the flesh, yet as alive and as passionate in the pursuit of perfection._

_To him, perfection is attained in immortality. To her, it is invincibility._

_They are two sides of the same coin._

_Indeed, she is better alive than dead._

_And if he's had enough of her, he could easily silence her, anyway._

_There is no love in his heart for her._

_Nor has there ever been._

_"_ _Could you have loved me?" She asked carefully._

_She turns to look at him, but the man beside her is no longer Akasuna no Sasori._

_"_ _If you would allow me."_

She wakes with a low curse spouting from her lips.

Hatake Kakashi is the last person she expected to be conjured by her subconscious.

* * *

But she doesn't dream of him for more than that. Her mind doesn't spring memories from their nights together, doesn't pull instances of his face into her vision, and she is glad. She's had enough of these dreams in the time she has spent in Yuukou, and decides to fill her days with activities to occupy herself, use the night to engage in her other hobbies, entertain herself with rakugo and kabuki, get to know her family again, train in her mother's dojo and spar with the various samurai, cook food and plant herbs.

And it works.

A month passes.

She doesn't have dreams, her mind doesn't pull memories, she doesn't experience a longing for something else–she has built a life for herself here now.

She is a teacher, a sister, a sparring partner.

She is content here.

_She is home._

And this morning, she meets her brother's fair and beautiful betrothed.

"Good morning, Shikai-sama." The young woman greets shyly, her posture telling of a noble upbringing.

She returns the greeting, "Good morning."

"Kanemitsu-dono has spoken very highly of you." The woman continued, cheeks flushed a bright shade of pink, "It is an honor to finally meet you."

The woman's green eyes show utmost sincerity.

She smiles warmly, having grown into the expression, and sits across the fair-haired woman.

"I share the same sentiment, Hanano-san."

_Hanano Touka._  She remembered the name Kanemitsu mentioned weeks before.

"I am..." Touka stutters before gesturing to the pot. "Would you like some tea?" She asked nervously.

Shikai nods. "Please."

Touka pours her a cup and she accepts it, mouthing a 'thank you' to her.

"It is quiet here." Touka says after a beat. "Nothing like the shinobi villages."

"Which villages have you gone to?"

"Quite a few. I couldn't name them all, but the ones that I remember most vividly are the arid climate of Suna, the cold fog of Kiri, and the bustling crowd of Konoha."

Shikai had been to all of them, and she agrees.

"The samurai must be a new culture to you."

"Oh." Touka shakes her head. "It was, at first, especially when you visit Tetsu first, Shizoku next, and Takamura last. I think I've visited the samurai in reverse order."

Hanano Touka's laugh is a tinkling one.

"You're an adventurous type, Hanano-san."

"Oh, I am." Touka beams at her. "I've always dreamed of seeing the world."

Hanano Touka is an adventurous woman.

"Really?"

"To be honest, Shikai-sama," Touka says carefully, "if I could, I would be like you."

Shikai thinks Touka doesn't really mean that.

But the sincerity in her eyes tells her that she does.

"An adventurer able to come and go as they please."

Touka's words hold no amount of malice in them.

"Oh, but I'm home now." Shikai replies shakily.

She doesn't want Touka to know that was more than just that.

"Yes." Touka nods.

Shikai shifts the conversation. She asks Touka about her family's business, about when she and Kanemitsu had first met, about Kanemitsu's attempts a courtship and her father's initial hesitation, and Touka answers each of her queries with the enthusiasm of a child, the words of a learned scholar, and the face of a tender-hearted angel.

And from that, Shikai concludes that Hanano Touka is a nice woman, a kind woman, learned and adventurous. She is a good match for Kanemistu.

There is a relaxed silence between them. The pot of tea now empty, and their glasses down to the last serving.

Touka takes a sip of hers when Shikai calls her.

"Hanano-san."

Touka stops drinking immediately to respond, "Yes?"

"When are you and Kanemitsu planning to marry?"

The smile that grows on Touka's face is bigger and brighter than any she has given.

* * *

And the days that follow are days spent like any other.

She eats, sleeps, reads, writes, spars, teaches. It's almost a cycle, almost repetitive, but she is content. Sometimes she approaches the smithy, thinking to forge a sword, but it would be fruitless. She has no reason to craft weapons, no reason to sharpen her blades again and again. Sometimes, she tries her hand at ikebana. Sometimes, fishing.

She writes to Haru and Tenkou every now and then, and has included Tenten in the gifts that she sends to Konoha.

She has a life here now.

But sometimes she wonders if there would be life for her somewhere else, if she is destined to spend the rest of her life living like this, in such domesticity and repetition.

She doesn't like living predictably.

Which is probably the reason why she slept with a number of people before.

And in her stay in Yuukou, she hasn't slept with anyone.

She doesn't feel the need to.

But every now and again she had dreams.

Every now and again, she sees him.

Every now and again, she wonders.

What if she returned?

_What if–_

* * *

Hatake Kakashi is nervous.

And he's not usually nervous, but these people before him just give him the feeling that they're watching his every move. They're samurai. To be specific, high-ranked samurai from Takamura no Kuni. And if he remembers the contents of the invitation correctly, they're one of the Four Great Houses of Yuukou no Sato.

The Amakuni.

_Her family._

He knows how tight and strict the upbringing of the samurai are, but the young man before him makes him question how strict their upbringing really is.

There are three people before Kakashi right now, an elderly couple he assumes to be husband and wife, her mother and father, and between them the young man, her younger brother. They're dressed in refined pale blue kimonos, hair coiffed neatly, not a strand out of place. They all look like her; storm-grey eyes, and deep, dark blue hair.

"Are you kidding?" The young man exclaims, "You're what everyone talked about after the war!"

He grows even more nervous. He isn't one to receive such outlandish declarations of praise.

"I didn't really do anything that big," he excuses himself, "but stories about me do tend to be a little exaggerated."

He tries to be humble, but the young man isn't having any of it.

"Is it true that you have an arsenal of a thousand techniques behind your Sharingan eye?"

He nods. "I had."

The young man claps. "Amazing!"

"I think that's enough questions, Kanemitsu."

The elderly man pats the young man's shoulder. The young man is quick to fix himself, straightening his posture and composing himself, his expression neutral.

"It is an honor to welcome you to our home, Rokudaime Hokage." The elder man welcomed him.

The three people before him bowed deeply, pressing their foreheads to the tatami floor.

"Oh,"He sputters, face flushing at the grand gesture.

He continues when they've risen back to sitting on their ankles, "Just call me Kakashi, please. Or Hatake-san if you'd prefer."

"Rokudaime-sama." The elder man persists with the formality. "I hope the trip wasn't too tiring for you."

"It wasn't." He is quick to reply, "I was afraid I would be late."

"Oh, no." The elder woman answers this time, an amused look on her face. "You're actually the first of the Five Kage to arrive."

Did he hear her correctly?

"Pardon?"

Was he actually  _early_?

"I'm afraid the letters sent to the Five Kage all listed different dates." The man spoke this time, a look of worry on his face, "I hope we do not come off as rude, Rokudaime-sama. Our leader is just quite eccentric. He's heard a lot about the feats you and your students have done during the war."

_Of course they have._

"Ah. No. It's just," He still can't believe that they're the first one to arrive. He says apologetically, "I hope we wouldn't be causing that big of a commotion since the actual heroes are the ones who accompanied me, miss..."

They haven't introduced themselves yet.

Or was he supposed to know who they are already?

Before the silence could sink in, the elder woman speaks, "Amakuni Sumire." She gestured to herself and then to the elder man and the younger one, "This is my husband, Sadamune. And this young man is the family head, Kanemitsu."

"No way!" Kanemitsu interrupts her, leaning towards Kakashi excitedly, "The Kyuubi is here? In this house?"

Sumire slaps the back of Kanemitsu's head with her fan, and he winces.

"Behave, Kanemitsu." She scolded him.

"I apologize for our son's excitement, Rokudaime-sama." Sadamune said abashedly.

"Our daughter," Sumire added, "his elder sister, is nothing like him."

_Oh, he's aware of that._

And, as if on cue, the shoji door slides open to reveal her, still with the same chin-length haircut, dressed in the same pale blue kimono as the rest of her family in the room, but something feels different about her.

Her cheeks are fuller now, eyes no longer as cold, lips no longer a perpetual frown...

He's almost speechless.

"I'm here, mother." She muttered under her breath. "What is–"

She looks up from the load in her arms and sees him.

No, she doesn't drop the very breakable, very expensive welcoming present they've had her buy.

"Oh." She blinks. "I didn't expect the visitor to arrive so soon."

He blinks.

_Is she..._

Is she pretending to not know him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this wasn't too much of a bore to read, given that it's the new year. I know there are a lot of inconsistencies, but I'm going to get started with the revisions since I posted this one and have nothing written for the next. As always, feedback is very much appreciated. Thanks for reading.


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